Gets In Your Blood
by Bad Company
Summary: "You can't say 'no' to that one.  She gets in your blood." Juice is about to find out exactly what that means. M for language, sex, and dark themes.
1. Welcome to my Nightmare

**Gets In Your Blood**

by Bad Company

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Sons of Anarchy _or any of its characters. Neither do I claim to represent outlaw motorcycle clubs in absolute accuracy. I **do**, however, own Ava and Maggie.

**Warning:** **Contains mentions of canon character death.**

This is the fourth installment of my series.

…

**1. Welcome to my Nightmare**

It was dark where she was. Warm. The surface upon which she rested soft and smooth. The bed. Their bed. The place where she slipped naked between the sheets because he was already waiting; where his mouth found all the most sensitive, tender little places on her body; where she gave all of herself up as their bodies melded to one; and where afterward, he let her sleep curled up at his side. The bed smelled of them…of him…the sheets cool but the covers fighting off the chill of the approaching dawn. It was their haven; a place where age and time and the baggage of the past ceased to exist. Here it was just them, together, and there was no limit, no boundary that marked anything as too intimate.

Ava loved it here, in their bed, eyelids still too heavy to lift as sleep slowly left her and she stirred, kicked drowsily through the bedclothes. She still clung to a scrap of a dream, not quite ready for the day, holding off awareness. She reached across the bed and was met with empty, soft sheets. Happy must have hit the shower early. He no doubt had another job on the roster; he'd been home with her for weeks, the two of them wallowing in the house, their house, and Quinn no doubt wanted him on the road again.

Ava smiled to herself. She should join him. He would put her hands over her head on the wet tile and the water would cascade down his lean, rippling, tattooed body. Her personal sex god; a dark, mean-faced Adonis who devoured her with his eyes while he fucked her under the hot jets of water.

She stirred at the thought, heat rising in her cheeks, need tightening deep at the pit of her stomach. God, how she loved him. And wanted him. Hap was her everything, her one and only. As long as she had Happy, she didn't need anyone or anything else. She burrowed her nose into the pillow, breathing deeply the combined smells of his cologne and skin. She wanted to go find him in the shower, peel back the curtain and climb in behind him, pass her hands up the reaper on his back, sliding over the sinewy, soaped skin. But she wanted to lay here and dream about him also.

The decision was made for her when a sound like cannon fire reverberated throughout the house.

Ava startled awake, eyes flying open, gasping at the deep, booming sound. She clutched the sheet up across her naked chest, eyes going to the window. Rather than the deep, blackest dark of coming dawn, she saw the lead gray of an afternoon storm sky. Lightening ripped in jagged bolts low beneath the hanging clouds. Rain lashed the house, rattled against the glass and drummed heavily up on the roof. The scrawny, unkempt trees outside the window doubled over against the wind and scraped the panes. It was storming. A glance at the bedside clock revealed that it was three o'clock in the afternoon. And as she passed a hand over her breasts, she remembered that she wasn't naked, but wearing one of Hap's old shirts.

A ferocious bolt turned the gray afternoon to the white-hot surface of the sun, the flash washing the bedroom, branding the backs of her eyes with its echoes. And just as it tore open the afternoon, it permeated the drowsy fog in her head, splitting open her memory, the disassembled bits of grief falling just like the rain above.

Images and sensations came. The heavy lines on Jax's face. The tight feel of his hand gripping her shoulder. Screams…her own…and whispered words that were meant to soothe, but did nothing. Time passing slowly. Night. Day. The prick of the needle in her arm. Tara's professional frown. Maggie's tear-streaked cheeks. The sound of bikes. The long stretch of driveway. Polished mahogany. Red roses. Lilies. Bikes. Brothers. Kisses on her hands and cheeks. Condolences. The leather in her lap that smelled like him. Tears. Shadows. Nothing. She was nothing, but she kept existing…somehow. It wasn't for the others and it wasn't for the sustenance she refused. But somehow she'd been like this – in suspended animation – for six weeks.

Because six weeks ago…six weeks ago…six weeks…

She was going to vomit.

Ava flung back the sheet and scrambled off the bed, a hand over her mouth. Her legs didn't seem to want to cooperate, though, nothing fueling her system except ginger ale. She staggered a step, gagged, tripped over a sneaker she didn't remember having been there, gagged some more, and finally staggered into the master bath.

She didn't make it to the toilet, instead curling over the sink. Her muscles burned as they again assumed the now-familiar position; clenching and bringing up what was left in her stomach. Some yellow bile and bubbled, clear saliva was all, and her throat burned as she dry heaved without reason.

Afterward, she turned on the tap, rinsed her mouth, splashed her cheeks. She fumbled across the counter for a towel and instead found something slim and plastic. She shut off the water and took the item in her fingers, bringing it up to her dripping face for inspection. It was a man's razor, a Gillette, and it didn't belong to Happy.

She collapsed, her body turning to Jell-o. Ava landed hard on her ass, legs curled up awkwardly beneath her. She didn't attempt to get up. Just sat there, back against the wall, staring at the razor…that belonged to Juice.

**-O-**

It was raining, really storming, an unlikely front having blown in off the coast. The dry, thirsty northern Cali soil couldn't soak up the water fast enough, and muddy rivers ran through the T-M parking lot. Lightening cleaved the gun-metal gray sky, the following thunder loud as cymbal claps.

Leaned back against the trunk of the car he was supposed to be wiring, instead watching the raindrops coalesce and then fall from the edges of the roll top garage doors, Juice was glad for the weather. There was too much pressure these past weeks, too much desperate, clawing pain and uncertainty around him. There had been figurative clouds hanging over the club since the funeral. He was relived to see some _actual _clouds, and to feel that through them, there was some sort of release. Because six weeks ago, his stable, relatively calm existence within the MC had been turned inside out. And he didn't know what to do about anything anymore.

Through the curtain of falling water, he recognized the grille of the black GMC headed through the lot toward the garage bay, its wipers beating a furious rhythm. Jax's Old Lady had been driving the Yukon for some time now and didn't seem so ill at ease with the SUV any more. She swung it to a neat halt in front of the bay, tires hissing and spitting up rain water. The driver's door opened and a black umbrella popped out, the doctor scrambling down and sealing the truck up fast before the rain could wet the two little boys in the back seat.

Juice liked Tara okay. A little too neurotic for his tastes, but he admired her technical smarts. He'd met some very street savvy women in the MC, but only two truly intelligent chicks by book and paper standards, Tara being one of them.

She'd been grating on his nerves, though, these past weeks. They'd spoken maybe a handful of times over the course of her time with Jax, and usually it was because she was stitching him up and trying to make small talk. Ever since the funeral though, she'd been all up in his business; advising, commenting, disapproving, questioning. Saying the things the other Old Ladies said with their eyes but kept wisely to themselves. But he'd needed her and that medical kit of hers, so he hadn't sent her away yet. More times than one, Juice had been forced to pin Ava down by the shoulders while the doc administered an IV sedative. God, the look on that girl's face…it gave him chills just remembering. If there had ever before been a glimpse of the depths of hell on earth, it had been in her dark eyes. Hell was here, and she was swimming in it, every second of every day. And drugs were the only things keeping insanity at bay.

Tara walked around the nose of her SUV and stepped into the garage, lowering the umbrella and shaking the droplets loose. "Hey," she said rather flatly. "I need to talk to you about something."

Juice sighed and rubbed at his jaw. "I sent Neeta over. She's fine."

"Neeta? That's good." She nodded, but her expression told him she had more to say. "I still need to talk to you."

"About…?"

Tara stepped closer, shooting a cautious look further down the garage where Tig stood smoking and talking to Bobby. "The other day," she pegged him with a serious glance. "When she fainted and I took samples to check for blood sugar?"

He nodded.

"I ran some additional tests."

Really? Were they really going to play this cat and mouse game of guess what's wrong with Ava? Damn it, he fucking _knew _what was wrong with Ava.

But the doc was tilting her head and giving him that this-is-so-fucking-important-and-are-you-ready-for-it face. "Juice, have the two of you…consummated things?"

"What?" Was she serious? "No! She's been a goddamn zombie. Why would I even be thinking that?"

_Shit! _Did people think he was fucking Ava? Jesus…wasn't it bad enough that he was starting to keep a few things at the house; that he had to stay over some nights when Maggie was frightened the girl would try to hurt herself. Last night had been one of those nights. It was getting worse instead of better, none of them comfortable to leave her alone. They'd tried to take her back home to her parents' house, but Ava wouldn't hear of that. She hadn't so much as stepped foot on the front stoop in six weeks.

She exhaled loudly. "She's pregnant."

**-O-**

Her mind, overloaded, had switched off again, plunging her back into the darkness of sleep. Sleep was good. Sleep brought her warm, healing memories of him. His face. His improbable laugh. His hands on her body; rough and demanding in the throes, but gentle and careful afterward. When she was asleep, it didn't feel like someone was stripping her digestive tract with a pen knife, and she wanted to stay there forever, just let Tara shoot so much of whatever that was up her arm that she just floated away, and never came back.

She was awakened, though, by a sound out in the bedroom. Her eyes flapped open like plantation shutters – she could swear she heard the _click _– and it took only a moment to realize that she was still in a crooked, bent heap on the bathroom floor, the razor clenched in her hand. She stared down at it; the silver and black handle, the little tidbits of black hair caught between the blades, and wondered. Those blades were tiny, but maybe…if she cracked open the plastic head…yeah…then they'd be almost like straight razor blades…then she could….

The sound caught her attention again and she snapped her head around, one hand flattening over her stomach, the other hiking up the Gillette Mach 3 like a dagger. When she didn't want to slit her wrists, she wanted to kill whoever was around her. Both options seemed viable ways to protect what grew inside her.

Leaning into the bathroom, one hand on the doorjamb, was Neeta, SAMCRO's venerable nanny. Some part of Ava recalled the round, stoic black woman as a person to be admired. Someone she trusted and respected; her faith the stuff of soothsayers and her mothering legendary within the club.

But that part of her wasn't attached at the brain stem anymore, and she snarled, flashed her teeth the way _he _would if what was precious to him was threatened.

"Child," Neeta said with a slow, sad exhale. "You might as well put that away. I ain't ever seen anything quite so pathetic as you on the floor like that. Razor." She snorted. "You don't scare me, baby."

The words were received, processed and understood, but she didn't move; weak arm trembling with the effort of holding it upright like this.

"Your boy sent me," she explained unasked. "Dumb one with the hair? Bless his heart." She drew an imaginary line down the middle of her scalp with a finger. _Juice. _"He's worried about you."

_Your boy._

_Your boy._

_Your boy._

_Your boy._

That didn't mean what it used to.

Ava choked on the next breath she tried to pull in, jackknifing over the tile, arm with the razor finally dropping. It was like all this air was trying to get in at the same time even more of it was trying to get out, her chest full to bursting and aching because it was so empty. She hurt, she hurt, she hurt, she hurt, everything fucking HURT! And it wouldn't stop and she couldn't breathe.

_Your boy._

_Your boy._

She tried to scream but was choking and coughing too violently, spit flying into the hand she cupped over her mouth. Her eyes burned but there wasn't enough water in her dehydrated cells to produce actual tears. She felt like she would explode, just burst to pieces with all the oxygen and CO2 competing for space inside her. And she wanted to.

"That's right, sweetheart," Neeta's hand settled on her back. "Let it out."

**-O-**

The rain subsided, though the sky still rumbled angrily in warning; there would be another storm before the night was out. Steam licked up off the pavement, the lot deserted, wet and humid like the set of some campy teenage horror flick as Juice crossed the asphalt and leaned into the office.

Maggie glanced up at him from behind cat-eye reading glasses, pulling them off when she recognized him. "Everything okay?"

The guys had stopped coming by the house after it became apparent that there would be no change in Ava. Her mom still visited though; daily. Still fretted until she frowned and sighed almost as much as her daughter.

"Yeah," he assured. Inside, his gut was still clenching from what the doc had told him. "I was gonna clock out early. Pick up some food and see if I can get her to eat." Goddamn…she was going to have to eat now, whether she liked it or not. He wondered if she even knew. Or if he'd have to break the news to her. He wasn't doing _that _without more sedative, which, shit, he didn't know if she should even have that stuff in her system with the baby and all. It was not a fun place inside his head at the moment.

Maggie nodded, sighing like always. "Juice," she called him back when he turned to leave. "C'mere."

He walked over to the desk and leaned down when she stretched out an arm. She laid a hand on one of his cheeks, kissed the other and then patted him on the chest as he straightened. "You're a good boy, Juice," she said with a wavering smile. Her voice got that thick, emotional overtone again. "He'd be proud."

He rubbed a hand back across his mohawk. "Yeah…I'm not so sure about that."

**-O-**

Neeta was in the kitchen when he got back to the house, tidying up the mess he'd left at breakfast. "Oh," he said, kicking the back door shut and setting down the takeout bags. "Sorry about the house."

"Nah," she waved him off. "You ain't been in it long enough to claim all of this." She tilted her head, indicating the half redone kitchen; the tiles that had been pried loose, the paint swatches taped to the wall, the new microwave and ancient fridge. The place had just stopped, frozen, like Ava, all the passion in the home's mistress snuffed out. Juice remembered that she'd been so excited. He'd come to wire in the flat screen and she'd just been bubbling, giddy as a cheerleader as she walked him through the two bedroom dive they were fixing up.

"_Bobby said he'd teach me to cook," _she'd gushed. _"Oh…I'm just so excited this is finally happening! Our own house! In Charming! Damn, did you ever think this would happen?"_

Now all the charm she'd been levering into the house was gone. The partial revamping comical in the light of all the sadness contained within the walls.

"Where is she?" he asked, pulling the burgers out of the Lumpy's bag.

Neeta paused as she scrubbed a skillet in the sink. She sighed. "Poor baby's been sitting in the bathroom since I got here. Just staring at nothing."

"Did…did she say anything?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Now what do you think? You think you'll come home one day and she'll be June Cleaver in the kitchen waiting on you?" She snorted and he hung his head, not wanting to face her stare. "That girl," she went on ", is in a world of pain you can't even begin to understand. She ain't gonna 'say anything'. Some_body _is gonna have to _pull_ her out of this. It ain't gonna come from within."

"I'm not…" he put his hands on his head – a move that had become all too familiar lately. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I can't…I don't even know what to do for her. She wasn't….ever supposed to be with me."

"Well, you got one thing right because she ain't with you."

Juice frowned in question.

Neeta half turned and put a soapy hand on her hip. She gave him a level, daring look that Tara had tried, but failed to achieve. "I don't even begin to understand all the silly rules you motorcycle boys have. But you standing in this kitchen? Living in this house? Something tells me that means something." 

He nodded.

"And if I'm right, and he 'left' her to you, then it was for a reason. And there's something you've got to do here."

It might have offended him if he wasn't so fucking tired and lost. "What is it?" he asked.

She tilted her head. "That's for me to wonder and you to find out. I'm just the messenger, honey. You want real advice, you talk to the big man himself."

**-O-**

Ava was, as promised, sitting on the bathroom floor, legs curled up at a funny angle, looking ten pounds thinner. Her arms were knobby at the elbows, skin paper-white and thin, the blue tracery of veins prominent across her throat and wrists. She looked asleep, head tilted back and eyes closed, but he knew she wasn't. Her hair – once a dark, shiny, resilient mane of mahogany, was stringy and unwashed, clinging around her shoulders.

When she was sixteen, the game had started; stealing kisses, making out, innocent petting through layers of clothes. In a world where he could get a Crow Eater to do absolutely anything, it had been fun with Ava, reliving all those high school fantasies. And he had wondered, for a time, if that would ever come to anything. It hadn't, because it wasn't supposed to. Ava had always been meant for another man. He had watched her blossom into this gorgeous, long-legged young woman, had been happy for her. At twenty-one, she was all grown up, sexy and well aware of the fact. At least, she had been. Now, he hardly recognized her.

"Ava." He dropped down to a crouch. Reached to brush a dirty lock of hair off her face. "Hey. C'mon. I brought dinner."

Her eyes opened, but she didn't turn towards him. "I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten in days," he prodded gently.

"I feel sick."

Morning sickness. And grief. Hell of a combination. He nodded. "Okay. You wanna take a shower?" Neeta, damn her and all her talk of Jesus, had gotten him thinking. "I thought we could go somewhere."

Ava swallowed, the muscles in her neck rolling as if they hurt. "Go somewhere?"

"I think you'll feel better if you get clean."

"Yeah." Her eyes closed again. "Okay."

She didn't move though, and as had become habit, he stood, crossed the master bath to the glass shower stall and cut on the water, setting the dials so the temperature would heat to the perfect degree.

Ava hadn't moved when he returned to her. Juice crouched again, taking her unresisting, limp body up in his arms and lifting her up to sit on the counter. She wobbled, weak, and clutched at the front of his cut. "Oh," she groaned quietly. "I don't feel good."

"I know, babe." It was heartbreaking to watch; to see her go from what she was to the vegetable she was fast becoming. Juice had always been too empathetic for his own good, and sometimes, the quiet moments alone with her left him with this overwhelming sadness. It had been devastating to lose his brother. But clubs dealt with that shit; they moved on. Holding the trembling wreck of a girl, though, brought up all his own grief and multiplied it. It was hard to lose. Harder to watch someone who loved the person more than you did deal with the loss.

At first he'd had all this help, but slowly, her cousin and even her father, had faded quietly in the distance. They couldn't help her, couldn't fix her, and the club must go on. And they were going to respect Hap's wishes so long as Juice kept up his bargain. Maggie wasn't strong enough – Ava a good inch taller than she was – so he'd adopted the lifting; carrying her to bed, putting her in the shower…restraining her when Tara came.

Ava's eyes were closed and she breathed in shallow little huffs, leaning against him. "I want him," she whispered. "Please, I just want him to come home."

It broke his big, soft heart. Juice speared his fingers back through her greasy hair, cradling either side of her head. He kissed her between her dark, arched little brows. "I know."

"Where's Hap?"

She asked him at least once a day. When her mind had been plagued too long by all of this, she would pull back in on herself like a child and just forget, the memories slipping away until she only knew that she hurt, and that she wanted Happy.

He kissed her again, her forehead soft under his lips. "He's gone, Ava."

Her voice was tiny. "When's he coming back?"

"He's not."

"Oh…" her fingers loosened, the leather halves of his cut sliding through them. "He's dead, right?"

Juice sighed. "Yeah."

**TBC**


	2. My Friend of Misery

**AN: **Thanks so much for reviewing, everyone! Also, and I forgot last time, I need to profusely thank Angiepie and GraciellaRed74 for letting me talk through this idea with them and making wonderful suggestions. They have been so helpful. I don't know how Angie stands my two a.m. worried ramblings! Thanks, girls!

…

**2. My Friend of Misery**

"_If I go too soon, she'll need someone. That girl can't be alone, I just won't let her be."_

Juice sat with his elbows on his knees at the end of the bed, staring at the carpet. Happy, that bastard, had cornered him that day in the garage, made him promise, had willed Ava to him. He hadn't wanted that responsibility. Still didn't. It wasn't because he didn't care – he had the bathroom door cracked, listening to the rush of the shower and alert to any sound out of the ordinary. Privacy be damned, he wasn't letting that girl drown in four inches of water because she just laid down and gave up. But he didn't understand why it had been him.

"_She likes you, man, and you like her."_

Jesus Christ…yes he did. But this wasn't right. Ava was so broken, so shattered, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it. Try to feed her. Put her in the shower. Sit and watch and wait for her to come back to life. It was stupid, but he had this hope that one morning, in the middle of his pre-packaged sausage biscuit and OJ, Ava would come into the kitchen, smile, pull one of the powdered sugar doughnuts from the box he kept on the table just in case, and tell him that she still struggled, but that she was okay. He wanted her to smile, hug him, kiss him on the cheek and tell him that the offer was sweet, but that she was okay without him.

Because how the fuck did he take on Hap's Old Lady for his own? He couldn't do that. His window of time with Ava had come and gone, never to be reopened, and this would never be anything more than looking after her in a strict sense.

"_You can't say 'no' to that one. She gets in your blood."_

She was in so, so much pain that sometimes, like earlier in the bathroom, it would have been the easiest thing to keep her there, in his arms, to try and take the bad shit away any way she'd let him. Being around someone who was wallowing in so much grief did funny things to his head. He'd never been too good when it came to handling vulnerable innocents. He got too invested.

It didn't help that every one of his brothers had taken two neat steps back, offering her up without one question. Even Chibs – goddamn him – had patted him on the shoulder and told him to "be good to her". What the fuck? What the motherfucking hell? It had been six weeks, he'd practically moved into the house, and he still had no clue what he was doing; treading water and trying to keep her head above the surface alongside him.

The creak of an old floorboard at the threshold drew his eyes and he found Neeta in her jacket, purse over her shoulder. "I'm gonna go," she said and he started to tell her not to. He just wanted someone, anyone, to help him with this poor, cracked and broken little MC Barbie he'd been given. Instead, he nodded. "I have to watch Jax's boys tomorrow."

He sighed. "Yeah. I'll figure something out. Thanks, Neeta."

She shook her head. "You poor babies."

He sat for a long while when she was gone, thinking about what he always seemed to think about these days. That Mayan had come out of nowhere; a straggler in the stairwell they'd somehow missed. The muzzle flash, the echo of the blast. And then his hands over the one weak spot on his brother, blood gushing through his fingers as he desperately tried to staunch the flow. He'd been hit right under the arm, beyond the vest's protection, and it hadn't taken long. Juice's throat was raw with the memory of screaming. He couldn't shake the feel of the hand that had grasped him by the cut and pulled him in close. _"Do it. Don't back out on me, goddamnit." _

In two minutes, as his brothers had pounded up the concrete staircase, as Hale's dumb ass had moved his guys into the "bust" too late, Happy had died in his arms. And he could never tell Ava how hard he'd tried to save him because she would claw his eyes out, just knowing that he'd been there and hadn't been able to perform some act of God. When it came – or had come – to Happy, Ava wasn't rational; just a bundle of raw nerves and emotions the likes of which no emo, whiny rock song could ever imagine.

With another rattling, tired sigh, Juice realized that she'd been in shower for far too long and went to check on her. If he put the doorjamb between his shoulder blades and tilted his head back, eased the door open a fraction, he could see her clearly without just barging in. Let her at least think she had some time to herself.

Through the fogged glass of the shower stall, she was a pale wraith; long-limbed and lean. Downright skinny now, her stomach concave, her arms too thin. He'd always thought those tight curves of hers were sexy; her round tits and ass not porn star material, but swimsuit model perfect. Chibs' rangy physique from his younger years with just enough of Maggie's "wow" factor. Juice hated it, but those were the thoughts that had started to plague him when he did his creepy, shower peeping routine. He felt especially low considering the overwhelming tattoo that rode from her side around to her lower back; Happy's brand as obvious as a billboard. Like always, he shook that overriding male part of his brain back into place and tried to concentrate on the more serious issues.

Ava's head hung limp off her shoulders, dark hair rippling with water as the jets coursed down over her. Her hands were braced on the tile in front of her, looking like the only thing that kept her leaning body from slumping to the floor.

His eyes swept her again, pointedly ignoring the way the water ran over the swells of her breasts, and knew she wasn't eating enough. Especially not considering she had a little one on the way. Shit…what was he supposed to do with that? Now he not only had to make sure Ava took care of herself, but of the baby too.

He let his head thump back against the doorjamb, suddenly just as tired as she looked.

**-O-**

When she bothered – more like when she was physically put there – she loved the shower. The warm water on her skin numbed her, left her feeling smothered and breathless, reminding her of when…

She closed her eyes as shampoo ran down her temples, gritting her teeth but unable to stop the memory that stormed her mental gates. Eight weeks ago. Moving day. Most likely the day the tiny life inside her had been conceived. Her little packet of Yaz tablets had gotten lost in the shuffle of boxes nearly a week before and had been forgotten in the excitement of the new house. Their house. The little two bedroom, one and a half bath ranch right off the heart of town. The place had been filthy and while the guys moved the boxes and furniture, Ava and her mother had scrubbed and scoured every surface. Alone, dirt smeared on her cheeks and no doubt a half a dozen dead ladybugs in her hair from those hideous salmon-colored drapes she'd pulled down, Hap hadn't seemed to care when he'd pulled her into the shower with him. This shower. And it had been so, so good here against the clean tile, hot water raining all around them.

Now, that would never happen again. Ava didn't go one day, one hour, without being reminded of him. A forgotten t-shirt thrown over a chair. A pair of his thick boot socks that had ended up in her drawer by mistake. The ashtray beside the bed she refused to empty. One morning, she'd ventured out for a drink of water before first light and had been struck by the sound of snoring coming from the living room. She'd gone, fast and quiet on her bare feet, breath catching, wondering, praying…but it had been Juice, asleep on his stomach. Because Happy was dead. He'd been shot, out protecting the club, and they'd put him in the ground with a prayer and a Harley procession that rattled all the windows in Charming.

And now she lived in their house, carried their child, and had to look at Juice's razor on the bathroom counter.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Happy was supposed to be alive, bitching about not being able to afford a kid, stressing over fatherhood and going to get her ice cream in the middle of the night. The house was supposed to be finished, the spare bedroom already transforming into a nursery. She should have been arguing with him about her being too young and already feeling like his child, should have been dealing with his emotional constipation on the matter. Ava should have had _him_. Should have the opportunity to snuggle her face into the base of his throat and hide her own tears of worry about this whole situation.

But she had nothing. She lived from moment to unwanted moment, Juice like a hovering, worried ghost in the corner. She knew he was watching now because he always watched. Lurking in the doorway, not, she knew, because he was some kind of creep, but because he was taking this responsibility so seriously. He and Hap had been close – not Jax and Opie close – but Juice was the laughter to his edge. Juice had to be hurting too, even if he didn't understand the chasm that yawned inside her now, he had to feel _something_. There was just enough sadness in him that his lips had lingered on her forehead and his hands had rested too long on her waist. He held her just a little too close when he picked her up and carried her into the bathroom. Just sad enough to care too much, but not enough to know what she missed, wanted and needed.

She wanted Happy. And she would have given her unborn child to have him back.

Ava opened her mouth and nothing came out; no sound, no bile, no air…nothing. She tilted her head back, letting the water pelt her face, and wished she were dead.

**-O-**

Juice had left his cell in the kitchen and he heard the shrill echo of its ring from across the tiny house. With one last look to ensure that Ava was okay – her head tilted back, water running across her little pointed nose and down into her parted lips – relatively okay, anyway, he went to answer it. "Yeah?" he asked, out of breath as he just barely made the call.

"Hey," he recognized the smooth voice instantly. Sarah. _Shit! _"What are you up to?"

"Um…" _watching my dead buddy's girlfriend take a shower. No, I'm sorry, watching my dead buddy's _pregnant _girlfriend take a shower. _"Just hangin' out."

She laughed, again with that smooth, unassuming voice of hers. Sarah worked down at the hardware store – was the owner's niece, actually – and when he'd gone in to pick up some odds and ends, he'd accidently knocked over an entire display of paint rollers and the apologies had turned to shameless flirtation. She was cute. Beautiful even. And didn't seem at all deterred by the clumsy biker and his head tats.

"So, are we still on for tonight?"

_Fuck. _Was that tonight? _Shit. _"Yeah. Sure."

"Are you okay?" her voice became concerned. "Juice? You sound rattled."

That was the understatement of the decade. "Nah. I'm fine." They had made plans the week before to go to a new club in Lodi, but coming home tonight and finding Ava…he'd completely forgotten. His whole life was turning into a routine of Ava. Dating Sarah was keeping him grounded…sort of. He guessed. Hell, he didn't know. But he really liked her and when he was out with her, he dreaded coming back to this house. The moment he crossed the threshold, though, all he could do was worry about Ava.

Sarah sighed on the other end. "Is this about…that…_girl_?"

Juice frowned. Non-club affiliated, she'd had trouble wrapping her head around the thought that one of his friends had "left him" his girlfriend to look after. She had wanted to meet Ava but he'd squashed that shit fast. No one was coming near the girl who didn't have to.

"No," he said firmly.

"Okay."

He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just been…well…pick you up at eight?"

"I was thinking earlier," she said. "Sevenish? I wanted to go to The Basil Leaf and they close early on Wednesdays."

He checked the clock on the microwave. It was nearly five. If he had to meet Sarah at seven that would cut things very short with what he'd planned with Ava. But…shit, Ava wasn't going to go anywhere with him. She'd just sit at the table and stare at her cold burger like a ventriloquist dummy in need of a hand. "Yeah, that sounds…"

A soft clearing of a throat grabbed his attention and he turned around. Ava was in the doorway of the kitchen, dressed in leggings, boots, and an old shirt of Happy's. Her hair was still wet, but it had been combed. She held her jacket over her arm. Holy shit, she had _heard _him, was wearing _clothes_, and looked ready to go. Mostly. Her normally fair complexion was downright sallow, her dark eyes looking deep with shadows. But she was standing. And she was looking at him as if she were actually Ava, and not Hap's trembling widow.

Juice covered the phone with his hand. "You okay?"

She nodded.

"Did you wanna go?"

She hesitated, but finally nodded.

He turned slightly as he spoke into the cell again. "Yeah, it's gonna have to be eight."

**TBC**


	3. Ride the Lightening

**AN: **If I could, I'd give Angie some sort of big, shiny, obnoxious award for reading my chaps and brainstorming with me! You're the **best**, Angie! She even managed to overlook the fact that I killed off her favorite character and supported this crazy idea. She helps me make sure I haven't lost my mind! This is your shout out, girl, so give yourself a pat on the back:)

AND big thank you to AlyKat4Life. Her amazing rendition of Ava's tattoo is my new profile pic. So be sure to check that out!

Side note: all chapter titles have been, and probably will be, song titles or song lyrics.

**...**

**3. Ride the Lightening**

Ava had forgotten about the rain until she stepped outside. Wow. Outside. It was strange out here. The driveway was wet and dotted with puddles where time had eaten pockmarks into the concrete. The grass was long and weed-choked, the stucco and wood siding in need of a good pressure washing. Damn, it looked like she lived in a crack house.

Overhead, thick gray clouds scurried across the sky, chasing one another so fast the evening sun couldn't shine through. Lightening brightened the dark underbellies every so often, but nothing definitive and crackling. Just a warning; it would storm again, and when it did, God help anyone who wasn't indoors.

"You coming?"

She jerked her head at the voice, and then remembered why she was out here in the first place. Juice was on his bike, waiting, holding her helmet out to her. She looked between it and him; searching his familiar face – that tiny bit of scruff along his cheeks, the shades that hid the big, brown eyes she knew so well – and tried to reconnect to the part of her who had called him "friend". She supposed it was staggering that she was even standing here with him. Aside from Maggie, no one else had stayed. Everyone else had given up on her. Except for her mother. And Juice.

Her hand trembled as she reached for her helmet. The leather bag and nylon rifle scabbard weren't heavy across her shoulders, but their movement against her back caused her to stagger a step, pulling the helmet into her gut, lurching forward until she nearly fell across the back of his Dyna. His thick fingers curled around her wrist, keeping her upright. The touch was firm, warm, rough, the pads of his fingers chafed and calloused from garage work, reminding her of…

"You okay?" he asked, still holding her wrist. His shades slipped down and she could just make out the flicker of his eyelashes.

No. She was anything but fine. She was exhausted, shaky, so weak she couldn't even stand upright on her own, and contemplating getting on the back of his bike made her want to scream. But those rough fingers over her skin gave her the strength to nod. "Yeah."

He shifted like he meant to climb off the bike. "Shit, we should take the truck," he said. He glanced up at the roiling clouds. "It's gonna rain anyway -,"

"No," Ava was firmer than she'd intended. Something about his big, warm, rough hand sliding further up her arm, that little worried frown that made his eyebrows crinkle up above his shades made her _want _the bike. In the truck, all caged up with all this room and silence between them, he'd keep giving her the worried looks and hesitant questions. The ones where he sucked in this big breath beforehand like he needed a second to get his jumbled, ADD thoughts in order to say the most appropriate thing.

No, she wanted wind, stinging rain, her hair getting ripped from beneath her helmet. Wanted to close her eyes and hold onto someone and pretend that her life hadn't been beat to a bloody pulp. "Let's take the bike," she urged. "Please."

He moved his hand so his palm rested on her forearm, fingers trailing upward, dark against her lily white skin, heavy gold rings catching some kind of light. She stared at it. Just…stared. His hand, with the rings, with the little scuffs on the knuckles from mechanic work…they were…

_On her ass, the back of her neck, touching her through her clothes. That first gasp. The first time her body twisted and rolled in an almost feline way as that hand, with the rings on the first three fingers, found its way under her shirt. Heavy breathing. Lips on her neck. Rough stubble under her own. Before Hap, before sex, back when it had been…_

She didn't realize he'd let go until she was staring at the pavement, hands on her knees, bags a hundred pounds across her back. She pulled in a rattling breath and shook her head. _No, _she thought. There could be no room for _those _memories. She wouldn't allow it. She couldn't stand to ever think about that. It was disrespectful. Disloyal. Untrue to her Happy.

"Ava." He was off the bike at this point. She could see the black toes of his boots. "Come on, let's just go back inside." His hand, that damn dark hand with the rings on it, landed on the back of her neck, above the straps of the bags. She wanted to claw it away. And yet she wanted someone, anyone to just _touch _her – hug her, love her, hold her – that she closed her eyes and prayed he didn't let go. Stay-and-go, do-and-don't warred in her head for a moment. God, she was so _lonely_. But she wanted Happy. But Juice was here.

"Gimme a sec," she panted even though she wasn't exerting herself.

"Okay." His hand stayed.

In her mind, she could see her father's face, grim, as he shook his head. He'd let go. And maybe it was her own fault because she'd told him to, because he'd never wanted her to be with Happy, because no matter what had happened in Charming, she could never fully forget the fact that he'd bailed. But either way, he'd let go.

But Juice held on.

Slowly, Ava straightened, tugging at the tail of the flannel overshirt she wore.

Juice's shades were off, held in his other hand, his face that completely open, unshielded window into everything he was thinking and feeling. That was a dangerous vulnerability in this MC life. But for the moment, all she saw was sympathy of a kind that almost suggested he knew exactly how hard this all was for her. That patented "Juice" look with a twist she hadn't ever seen. And it was what she hadn't received from her father, and wanted so badly.

"I'm ready," she said, though her voice broke.

If it were possible, his eyebrows became even more crooked, brown eyes enlarging until she was afraid, if she stared at them too long, she'd get lost and forget a little of her misery. She expected him to protest, but he gave her neck a last little squeeze and then moved back towards his Dyna, hand outstretched to help her.

Ava had never ridden double behind Juice, but the process was the same as all the rest. She snapped on her helmet, took his hand, and settled onto the little bump seat that put her knees on either side of his hips. She was too far back and she knew it, scooted up, arms going around his waist…and then her common sense overrode the feeling that she was betraying her most revered and loved man, and she just molded herself to him the way she'd been taught. He wasn't a huge guy – the other Sons were taller – but he was padded with muscle, solid in her arms, broad back covered with leather that smelled of smoke. He was her friend and he'd been so good to her. Sturdy, in practice and now in the flesh, as she clung to him. Ava squeezed tight, resting the side of her face against his reaper. Hold or be held, she realized in the moment, that she was starved for human contact. With Hap, she'd discovered how amazing it was just to lay tangled with someone. It was one of five million things she missed.

"You set?" Juice asked, voice careful and soft.

"Yeah," she managed, closing her eyes against the tears that wanted to come again. "Let's go."

He cranked the Harley to life and she realized, with an audible gasp, how much she missed riding bitch.

**-O-**

He'd had Sarah on the bike a time or two, but she had been terrified, squealing in his ear, clawing at the front of his shirt, resisting the turns and throwing his balance. Ava had been doing this a long time though, and she held without constricting, loose and easy and anticipating the curves with him. He felt her chin on his shoulder and knew she watched the road. Not afraid. Going for the ride instead of fighting it. Her hand, every so often, would flatten across his stomach, fingers probing his abs, and he wondered if – being Hap's girl – she was having trouble going without certain attentions. Hap had gone through Crow Eaters like a smoker did Nicorette. Once Ava had come into the picture, however, that shit had stopped, so he wondered, idly, if all that "energy" had been focused at home.

Again with the inappropriate thoughts.

The clouds crowded together, darker, a deeper shade of gray as they headed out of town and up into the Streams. Leaves ripped from their branches littered the road, the wet pavement kicking up a fine spray of water. The lightening was just a muted flash, still, but Juice felt that pressure returning. As the atmosphere seemed to swell with humidity, he started to worry that this wouldn't pan out the way he'd wanted. What he was doing – the waiting and hoping – wasn't doing anything for Ava. He remembered a sunny afternoon when Hap had asked him to teach Ava to shoot. That stern look of approval on the Nomad's face as he'd leaned back against his bike, watching the two of them. Fucker had already been setting shit up then.

He took her all the way down the twisted side streets and eventually across the rain-washed gravel drive up to the old Bluebird site. Ava didn't move when he cut the engine and took off his helmet. Without the bike's vibrations, he could feel her shaking.

"Why'd you bring me here?" she asked. Her breath caught. "This is where -,"

"We shoot," he finished, frowning. Had he fucked this up too? This was where he had showed her how to handle a gun. This shouldn't have caused her any undo trauma. He craned his neck around and could just see half of her face, her lower lips trembling as she scanned the hulking wreck of the old gun warehouse. Intending to catch her attention, he leaned back until he felt her breasts against him, and earned a startled look from her. "C'mon. It'll be fine."

Her left hand was on his shoulder, knuckles white as she dug her fingertips into the leather of his cut. Somehow, someway, he'd misinterpreted what this place meant to her. In some way, it made her think of Hap, and instead of finding warmth in that memory, it just poked at the raw wounds.

Juice felt those little tendrils of desperate frustration curling around him. Jesus…everything he did was the exact wrong thing. He'd promised Hap, was trying, damnit he was trying, fumbling around without a safety net and quite literally playing with not just her life, but that of her unborn child, because one more false move could plunge her into a darkness so deep, the only way out was with a self-inflicted gun shot wound. Goddamn, what did he do? How did he get her to go past this somehow?

He tunneled through the overactive layers of his mind, searching for a clue, a memory, anything. And he finally landed on a night when Ava was eighteen and just newly an Old Lady, the two of them sharing a pint of ice cream while Happy was away. From that, he pulled two things. One; he had to get her back to that state of mental health, back to what they'd had in the hopes that if nothing else, having a friend would diffuse some of her absolute sadness. And two; he had to take charge of that process.

"Sweetheart," he took off his shades and gave her a careful look. "We're gonna do this. It'll be good for you. And afterward, I'll take you straight home, but now, we're gonna do something you do well." He didn't phrase it as a question, was kind, but left no room for argument. Just like her deceased Old Man.

Ava's eyes seemed unnaturally large. She was still a moment, blinking, but then with a little nod, she climbed off the bike and unsnapped her helmet.

It felt like a victory of sorts. He knew he couldn't just tell her to do anything – Happy could have instructed her to leap of a building and she would have complied with a smile – but this _had _to be progress. Juice prayed for a continuation of his luck as he took the bags from her. "Alright, let's go find a place to set up."

**-O-**

She handled the guns with a prowess that spoke of frequent practice. Hap had drilled her on it, her first lesson with Juice all those years ago just the beginning of her tutelage. It was a little bit eerie to watch how detached and methodical she was about the whole thing. He'd set up bullseye targets on an old piece of charred wood and though he'd brought plenty of extra ammo, Ava was blowing through it clip after clip, pouring the rounds through the ten and twenty marks until the paper was chewed and gaped with one large hole. She didn't speak except to ask for more ammo. But he'd watched carefully, shooting alongside her, and had seen her shoulders straighten, had seen some of the grief be replaced with concentration.

"Good," he praised as she lowered her Glock for the final time. They had expended all the 9mm rounds he'd brought and now she just stared at the semi-auto in her hand, frowning.

"No more?" she asked, not looking up.

"I brought the 700."

Her head snapped around and for a moment, something of the happy, alive Ava that seemed only a memory these days seemed to punch through. He didn't know if it was her eyes, or the little tilt at the corner of her lips that was nearly a smile, but the mention of the rifle stirred her and Juice pulled the Remington out of its scabbard with enthusiasm. Holy shit, this was working! Finally, his idea about her had been correct.

He prepped the gun and couldn't keep from smiling when he handed it to her. "Now remember that it -,"

"I know," she cut him off, already hefting it up to place and lining up the sights. The tactical rifle went off with a deafening blast before he could reinforce the necessity of keeping it snug up tight to the front of her shoulder, and the recoil hit her hard. She was shaking as she lowered it, and Juice swore as he pulled the gun out of her hands and turned her to face him.

"Shit. Did it get your shoulder?"

"Not too bad," she lied, but winced when he probed the spot with his thumb.

"Damn, I'm sorry." He shook his head. "You okay?"

He was dimly aware of quick tongues of lightening licking through the clouds, but for the most part, he focused on her face. The gun kicked like a mule, and that punch seemed to have snapped her out of whatever fragile good mood she'd had. Her pale face was blank again, the light in her eyes receding. The wind came bustling through the clearing and pulled her hair into a dark tangle that streamed out to the side like a flag. The building storm – inside her and out – gave her the look of a painting; some chaotic moment an artist had tried to capture on canvas, only to lose control of his subject. Just like Juice was losing control of the scenario.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go down. _He _was supposed to bring _her _out of the darkness, not join her there. "Hey," he put a hand on her other shoulder, giving her a little shake. "Try again. I'll help you."

Her head tilted to the side and the breeze snatched more of her hair, strands whipping across her cheek and contrasting sharply against her skin. The sky rumbled overhead. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Again."

She didn't move though, and Juice turned her back to face the row of targets, stepping in behind her. He had a moment of hesitation. Before, with Happy present, he hadn't thought twice about this move. Now it felt wrong…at least…a _little _bit wrong…taking advantage almost? He didn't know. But she was waiting and shaking and her hands hung like limp fish off her wrists, so Juice closed the final gap and put his arms around her, bringing the rifle up with him and setting the stock against her shoulder.

Ava was tall enough that her hair was against his chin, but felt as insubstantial and delicate as a bird as he held the gun and pretended he wasn't holding her. Her hands lifted and found the barrel, the trigger, and he supported…but Jesus, she was just a bundle of twigs in his arms. Half of the weakness was physical, but the other half was all mental.

In a move he hadn't expected, she leaned into him, her bony hip pressing against his thigh, her elbow at his chest, glad she had someone to hold her upright. She sighed, a quiet, pained sound, and he felt his body respond; tightening his arms, pushing back against her and keeping her upright, cradling her. The wind pulled her hair around him as he rested his cheek against the side of her head. It was soft as fine-spun silk, and smelled like the coconut shampoo he'd seen in the corner of the shower at the house. Many times, in the shower after her, that scent had lingered. He liked it, pressed his face into her so she could hear when he whispered his instructions.

"Find the sights," he murmured. He could feel her tight little ass against him now and it was doing things to his mind that he shouldn't have allowed. "Slow pull on the trigger…yeah…just like that…tight on your shoulder…"

He was ready when the Remington fired; had felt the tension ripple through her lithe body before she pulled the trigger. The recoil pushed her back, until she was flush against him, until all he could smell was that coconut shampoo. And until he didn't feel anything except his own pulse and every sleek curve against the whole length of his body.

Her shoulders kicked against his chest and she dropped the rifle, Juice fumbling to catch it in his distracted state. He slowed its descent, but eventually let it fall to the ground so he could wrap both arms firmly around her, one at her waist and one across her chest, as she fell to pieces.

The tears and the sobs erupted out of her as her knees buckled and she doubled over. Her intention was obviously to just collapse, arms and legs tangled, like she had in the bathroom. But Juice caught her, held her back tight against his chest. She shook and fought him for a moment, her choked, incoherent protests sounding like babble.

"No," he told her. She wasn't falling this time, wasn't going to fling herself down on the ground like she'd done so many times. Juice felt all his sympathetic grief surge like adrenaline, but not grief for Hap – grief for her. Because it was killing him to watch her do this to herself. "No," he repeated, turning his face into her sweet-smelling hair. God, it was so soft. And she was so breakable, so devastated, so sad, and so in need a reprieve from her storm.

Her hands latched onto his forearms, nails biting into his skin. He didn't care. He held her tighter, her tits pushing against his hold as she sucked in air. Poor girl. Poor little girl. She'd lost everything and she just wanted to be reassured, just needed some comfort. And Jesus her hair…and then the slim throat he reached as he nuzzled it aside. He felt every sob, every breath, every tremor. He kissed the side of her neck.

"I want…I can't…" she whimpered, clutching his arm even harder.

"I know, baby." He kissed her again, over her pounding pulse. "I know." She tilted her head, giving him better access…

And suddenly, he had a hand on the other side of her head and was sucking on her neck, overwhelmed with the smell, taste and feel of her. That vulnerability making him want to cradle her, fueling his actions as he kissed her skin, inhaled her scent. Crushed her to him. In empathizing, he was hard. He wanted her. Could have laid down on the gravel and put her on top of him, could imagine the way she'd look with jagged bolts of lightening framing her excited eyes. He wondered what all that hair would feel like against his face…when he had his dick inside her. And then he finally disengaged when his mind screamed that she wasn't resisting and that this couldn't happen.

Ava staggered away, gasping, and he let her go, leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees like she had earlier. "Fuck," he muttered. "Shit, I -,"

"It's okay," Ava said. He glanced up and saw her straightening her jacket, cheeks still wet, but tears halted for the moment. Clarity had returned to her features. She wiped at her face and sniffed, but met his eyes. "We should go."

Lightening streaked along the underside of the clouds, a fast crack of thunder following. The wind had picked up, leaves and trash tumbling across the warehouse property. Dressed in black, standing tall again, dashing at her cheeks with a sleeve, Ava was like an apparition…one he had wanted to fuck. Still did. She had – in her moment of chaos – stirred up all the long buried and well hidden feelings he'd harbored for her. And they'd sucker punched him without warning.

"_She gets in your blood."_

"Yeah," he straightened. "Let's go."

**TBC**


	4. Misled

**4. Misled**

It seemed impossible that the storm didn't break before they got back to the house. Juice rode too fast, took the turns too sharp, rattled as hell the whole trip. He was acutely aware of her arms, her body, her legs, everywhere she touched tingling with anticipation. It shouldn't have happened, it had just been a mistake, caught in the moment with her…but he kept replaying it as they flew down the highway. Smelled her hair. Tasted her skin. Felt her leaning into him. He knew that it was wrong to want this. She was grieving, mourning the loss of the _love of her whole fucking life _and here he wanted to roll her gently beneath him and just pour all his jumbled feelings into her.

The truck was beneath the carport at the house, but there was plenty of room for his bike too. Right alongside Hap's bike. Yet another reminded of his mistake. Ava was already off the moment he had the kickstand out, fumbling with her keys in the back door.

Shit. He'd freaked her out. She'd stopped crying, more composed than he'd seen her the past weeks, but he'd overstepped his bounds and she was freaking.

Juice sighed as he joined her on the stoop, catching the door as she passed inside and then closing it behind them. He watched her as he pulled his gloves off and set them on the kitchen counter, tracking her as she paced slowly into the living room. She kept raking the fingers of one hand through her hair, yanking through the snarls when she found them. She set the rifle and leather knapsack down on the coffee table and then just stood, her back to him. Juice wanted to look at her and search for signs of fatigue or stress, but instead he shamelessly watched her ass inside the second skin of her black leggings. The gates had been opened, and those thoughts couldn't be beaten back now.

Still, it was with friendly concern that he followed her into the living room and touched her lightly on the shoulder. "Ava." She didn't turn around. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. _No. _

He checked his cell – it was seven fifteen – which gave him forty-five minutes to get cleaned up and go meet Sarah. Thunder rumbled from outside the house. He had promised the pretty blond with the easy smile – the girl who was actually _alive _– a fun evening. But if this girl, if his broken one, asked him to stay…

She turned suddenly, hair whipping around, and her eyes were huge and glazed with tears. "I'm sorry," she blurted. "None of this is fair to you and I'm sorry."

Of all the reactions he'd expected, this wasn't one of them. "No, hey, it's cool. I -,"

"You shouldn't be stuck here with me all the time. My own fucking _father _can't be around me anymore! So please, just, don't pretend, Juice. I know I'm horrible and I can't…can't stop being this way. You don't have to stay and look after me."

Oh God…"No, it's not like that." His hands found her upper arms and squeezed. "You're not _horrible_, you're hurting. Chibs…he's just…" in the moment, he felt more anguish for her than he did respect for her father ", being an asshole. It's not you, babe. I swear it's not."

She shook her head. "I know – I know what – Hap told you - ,"

Juice pulled her in closer, until her hands flattened against his chest. He dropped his voice and again cradled the side of her head, fingers holding her hair back. "It's not like that. I'm here for you, okay? Not for Hap." Which was only partially a lie, because the past week, he'd thought less and less about the obligation to his brother, and more about Ava.

She inhaled deeply, breath catching on the release. He felt her fingers twitch, tips flicking against his t-shirt. "I don't know how to keep doing this," she whispered. "It hurts _all the time_, it never stops."

"I know it does."

A shudder went through her, one he could feel, and then she surprised him by leaning forward and resting her forehead against his shoulder. He hugged her automatically. This was – if he dared to hope – looking like a breakthrough. Though having her against him again was dangerous. He was acutely aware of her breasts against his chest. Her stomach yielding to the flat of his belt buckle. That's where her baby was, her fatherless baby. He tightened his hold and again rested his face in her hair.

"I'm supposed to go somewhere tonight," he said. "But, if you need me to stay…"

She pulled back a fraction, just enough that he could tell she didn't meet his gaze. She trailed a hand down his stomach, over his belt – _oh_ – cupped him through his jeans. "You're hard," she said matter-of-factly, voice distant.

"Um…yeah."

"For me?"

He jerked a little when she closed her hand. He gathered a large breath, trying to come up with something better, but finally just caved with a shaky ", yeah."

Ava moved her hand back up, this time obvious in the way she stroked his abs, squeezed at the underside of his pectorals, all of it clashing with that empty, blank expression on her face. Her body shifted, moved against him in a way that was suggestive. Her voice stayed flat though. "Do you want me?"

He winced. Why was this happening? Why now of all times? But his libido had some entirely different questions to ask; wondering if she was wet, curious about how hard she liked it. "Yeah…" he answered. "But I'm not pushing anything on you, Ava. It's just biology."

"Right. Biology." Her eyes cut over and met his gaze, distant and not at all connected with what she was doing and saying. Like her body had decided it was tired of waiting and her mind had become a willing prisoner. Or else she'd finally cracked and this was insanity. "Kiss me."

Juice reached up and stroked a thumb across her cheek. Her skin was soft. He bet her hips would bruise under his hands when he drilled into her. "Are you sure?"

She closed her eyes and nodded.

With forced slowness, he leaned down and just barely brushed her lips with his own. The sweet, careful moment lasted a handful of seconds, and then things went beyond his control.

Ava surged against him. She seized fistfuls of his shirt and dove aggressively into the kiss. Juice was shocked for only a moment, and then his mind abandoned him and he reacted.

He grabbed a handful of her ass and ground her to him, his other arm banded around the small of her back. Her mouth was the stuff of fantasies; lips opening and tongue yielding to his. She pushed back though, matching his rhythm. He was breathing hard, so was she, but he didn't dare break away. Their lips worked together with fast, wet, sloppy sounds…and still it wasn't enough. Juice wanted all of her at once, wanted to lavish every inch of her with attention, but didn't want to take the necessary time. Too hungry, too desperate. He couldn't stop. It was sensory overload, and yet not nearly enough. He wanted in her, wanted to feel her walls grab at him, wanted to go so deep she screamed.

She fell and he realized she was lying down, pulling him with her. He knocked his elbow on the edge of the coffee table and didn't feel it. All he felt was Ava; under him, panting, writhing, grinding her hips up into him. He moved to her neck, kissing and sucking like earlier, and heard her pleas.

"Now," she whispered. "Please. Now."

He couldn't move fast enough. Her shirt wouldn't cooperate so he gave up, kissing her breasts through the cotton as his hands yanked her leggings down over her hips. His own belt and jeans were more difficult. _Fuck! _Why was he even wearing pants? Fuck pants!

Ava clawed at his neck, arching beneath him. _Fuck! Hurry up! _He had to get inside her, he just had to. She _needed _him, goddamnit, and she was going to be so good. He could already anticipate it as he took his cock in his hand. Almost…he kissed her again, drunk off the taste of her mouth…and drove into her on one fast stroke.

**-O-**

He'd come home. Her Happy had come home! And he couldn't even wait long enough to get her to the bedroom, taking her on the floor instead. She'd thought she'd lost him, but no, he had just been away. It had just been a nightmare! She wanted to cry with relief and scream with joy, but couldn't do either because his tongue was halfway down her throat. She kissed him back, welcomed the invasion because she wanted, needed him to know how much she missed him.

And his body – that magnificent, gorgeous body rolling with muscle – felt even bigger and broader in her arms. Through the leather of his cut, her fingers probed his bunching, straining shoulders as he pumped in and out of her, driving her down into the carpet. She hadn't remembered him being so _thick_, but he was, and he stretched her until it almost hurt as thrust into her again and again, faster still. He went deep. He was in her so far, so close to the life he'd created inside her womb that it was overwhelming. She tried to lift her hips to meet his thrusts. Slid a hand up his neck to cup the side of his bald head, wanting to let him know that in her ecstasy and relief, she needed even more of him, wanted to kiss him until she choked. That smooth scalp that he shaved every morning passed under her fingers, so soft, so…bristly?

Happy hadn't had hair since his bike accident. Since that afternoon she'd killed to protect him out on the highway. But now…he had hair? She brought her other hand up, above his ear, again found the smoothness of shaved scalp, but then…hair. A stripe of short hair down the middle of his head. A mohawk. But Happy didn't have a…

Happy was dead. And the powerful man above her, fucking her here on her living room floor…was Juice.

Ava moved both hands to the heaving, muscled chest over her and shoved, hard, breaking the seal of their lips. "Stop!" she screamed. "Stop! Stop stop stop stop stop _get off me_!"

Juice was panting as he sat back. "Wha…?" But he was still inside her. _He was still inside with her baby!_

"Get off me!" she shrieked, clawing at any bit of him she could reach. She felt skin and sunk in her nails, wanting to hurt him, wanting him _off of her_.

And then his weight lifted away completely, the cock she'd stupidly mistaken for another slipping out, and she scrambled away the moment she was free. Ava managed to pull her leggings up as she crawled over against the base of the couch and collapsed, curled up on her knees, hands keeping her face off the carpet. She coughed, gagged, tears streaming down her cheeks. All she could think was that she'd betrayed Hap. In a moment of grief and weakness, she'd allowed another man in with her unborn child. Happy's child. She'd only ever been with Hap, and in just a matter of seconds, Juice had breached what was sacred to her man alone.

"Motherfucker."

Through her tears, Ava glanced up and saw Juice on the floor too; on his knees, forearms braced on the rug, hands curled into big, ringed fists. His head hung off his shoulders and he breathed in huge inhalations that shook his whole body. As she watched, he pushed himself up and then sat back on his knees. His jeans were undone and he was still fully erect, face contorted like he was in pain. Happy had told her once that it was agonizing to stop like this, and, watching Juice, it appeared to be true.

She closed her eyes and cried, not looking up when she heard him finally stand. Heard the zipper on his jeans and the jingle of his belt buckle. His boots passed heavily in front of her, but he didn't stop, going into the bedroom, and then the bathroom door shut with a click.

**-O-**

The storm clouds finally burst; wind and rain and lightening beating all around the little house. The fat drops spattered against the windows, loud and chaotic as the self-flagellation that occurred inside Ava's head. _Whore_, she accosted herself. _Traitorous whore. _She trembled on the sofa in the dark, terrified and anguished. She had tried to tell herself that it was Happy, but really, she'd known all along. And she'd allowed it. And though her heart ached, her body craved…and appreciated…what he'd had to offer. And that clash inside her made her sick to her stomach.

Juice had been so sweet to her. Had held her. Was a masterpiece of muscle and bone and big enough to take her breath away.

But she _loved_ Happy. Grieved Happy. Carried his child.

Dear God, the baby. Juice had been in there, all the way in there, next to her baby. She gagged again, nothing in her stomach to even bring up, but ill regardless.

It was a long time before Juice emerged, and was quiet when he did so. She smelled cologne on him as he reached to turn on the end table lamp. He had changed; a plain black button-up untucked over dark jeans. White Reeboks instead of his usual boots. Ava stared at his skull belt buckle and refused to look at his face when he came to stand in front of her.

"I'm gonna go," he said quietly. Not angry, just quiet. Disappointed. "Do you mind if I take your truck?" A jagged bolt of lightening illuminated the window as if to prove his point.

She shook her head.

He pulled in one of those deep, quavering breaths that was his trademark and she watched him set something on the coffee table. "I think you should read this, if you feel up to it," he said as he walked off. "Call me if you need anything."

She waited, still as stone, until she heard her truck roar to life out under the carport. Then she leaned forward and reached for whatever it was he'd left. It was an envelope, sealed shut, her name pressed on the front in neat all caps. She recognized the handwriting.

Happy's.

**TBC**


	5. I'm Sprung

**AN: **Once again, I have to give a huge shout out and thank you to Angiepie. Her help writing Happy's note was invaluable! It was so cheesy the way I had it and I was getting too sad to work on it. So, big, big props to her for coming to my rescue!

And thank all of you for reviewing! I'm so grateful for the positive response to this decidedly not positive story. Things are about to get…um…you'll see. But be patient. There is much to come.

…

**5. I'm Sprung**

Eyelids peeled back as far as was possible, the corners of the paper crackling she held it so tight, Ava read Hap's letter with the aid of the end table lamp. Outside the house, the storm raged, but inside her head, it was silent. He had written her a letter, actual words, with his own hands, and that warranted absolute concentration.

The tears started with the first line.

_Hey Kiddo,_

_I don't know what year it is or where you are, but if Juice gave this to you, then I got my ass killed. I'm sorry, sweetheart, you know I didn't want that. I always tried to be careful._

_But in case some shit went down, I talked to Juice. He agreed he'd look after you. He likes you a lot, kiddo, and he'll take care of you. LET HIM. I know you're a one man kinda woman, and I know it's only ever been me, but you deserve a life. A real one, with kids, and a house. He can give that to you._

_For me, just let Juice be there. The poor idiot's doing his best; just give him a chance, even though he's not me. I don't want you alone, I know it's gotta be hard, but try to be happy._

_The house, my bike, everything's yours now. Mom had a storage space in Bakersfield. Keep it or get rid of it, whatever, but there's some shit in there you might like. Old pictures. Jewelry and shit. You and your mom can look through it._

_I know I don't say it much, but I fucking love you Ava. You deserve to hear that shit everyday, and I know that you know I love you, even when I didn't say it. I've always loved you; you had me when you were in diapers and still do now that you're this beautiful, amazing, talented woman. You're the __best part of my life__. I love you so fucking much, baby; More than Mom, more than the boys. You're my family. You've always been home._

_Be safe. Lock the doors. Set the alarm. Always shoot to kill, my little killer. Juice isn't used to watching out for somebody, so help him, show him how. I know this is the hardest shit you've ever had to do, but you'll be okay. I promise. _

_I'd die for you,_

_Stay hard,_

_I love you. _

_Hap_

She could swear she felt him in the room with her when she was crying too hard to see anymore.

**-O-**

Legacy was set up inside a gutted warehouse; the high ceilings sprayed with that acoustic foam shit, the walls black and flickering with neon strobe lights. It was very dark, very crowded, and very much like one of those semi-posh places that tried to pass for an LA night club. A lot of remixed techno pop was blasting out of speakers Juice could tell weren't calibrated for that kind of sound, the effect like a low-pitched buzz overriding some screeching diva. The dance floor was a sweaty, undulated wave of bodies, the bar too small and serving colored shit in thin-stemmed glasses. It was a million miles from his usual bars and beers, and the Lodi club was the last place Juice wanted to be at the moment.

Sarah was wearing a loose, silver dress with little metallic bits of whatever that flapped all around when she moved. The skirt was short, but the neckline modest. In his world of jeans and boots, it was nice, but felt odd. She jarred with everything in his head he took to be normal. Which wasn't a bad thing…but when she turned around, smiling, blond fringe bangs sweeping across her forehead, he was so fucking detached.

As Sarah towed him toward the dance floor – where he _really _didn't want to go – he kept imagining her hair to be darker, her skin paler, hips narrower. When she turned around and smiled coyly at him, all he saw was Ava's glassy-eyed acceptance. Heard her whisper of ", now". And kept replaying how horrified she'd been afterward. Stopping had been a challenge. Even now, if he allowed his mind to replay that scene on her floor, he'd be back in the truck and halfway to the house again.

If he had it to do over again, he'd do it the right way. Go slow with her. There was no taking back what had happened, though, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. About her. Ava. Christ, he'd fucked Ava. Sort of. Dry fucked her. Shit!

Sarah put her hand on his chest. He'd obviously missed whatever she'd been trying to tell him. "Huh?"

She rolled her pretty blue eyes. "I said, do you want to dance?"

"No."

She frowned at his fast answer. "Juice, what's wrong? Are you -,"

"I'm fine," he cut her off. He was being a dick, but there really wasn't anything to do about that. His brain felt like it might cramp up if he tried to act normal any longer and hold off all the shit he was thinking about. "I need some air," he told her with a shrug, and then started pushing his way through the crowd.

As he waded toward the exit, he wanted to kick himself. He should never have left Ava alone. All these weeks he'd spent worrying she might slit her wrists at any moment, and here he'd gone and tried to _fuck _her, and had left. He was pretty damn positive Happy had been the only one; that not only was she hacked to pieces emotionally, but that this other man stuff was all new territory for her.

"Juice!"

He thought he heard Sarah coming after him, but the music was too loud and he couldn't be sure. That and he was suffocating. God, what if she'd done something to herself? What if…?

He punched the release bar on the side door of the club and found himself in the alley beneath an awning. The same goddamn storm that had plagued him all day raged down between the metal sides of the club and the neighboring building, raindrops pounding the corrugated steel. He felt the fine spray of mist on his arms, knew the wind would soak him in a matter of minutes, but leaned back against the door and wrestled his phone out of his pocket. He saw the fresh, red scratches on his arm and nearly fumbled the cell in his haste. He'd fucked up so bad. He'd left her alone. If she'd done something rash, if she'd hurt herself…he couldn't think of that possibility.

He had three missed calls from Ava. She picked up with a weak, sniffled ", hey," on the second ring and he stuck his finger in his other ear so he could hear her above the rattle and hiss the wind generated against the wall.

"You okay? What's wrong?" _Stupid question. _

It was quiet on the other end a moment, and then she sighed, breath hitching. She'd been crying. "I read the note," she said finally. "Could you…come back?"

"Absolutely, babe. On my way."

**-O-**

She had called her mother twice and didn't get an answer. Then she'd stared at her phone for a long while, the words from Hap's letter running through her head on a continuous loop.

_I don't want you to be alone._

_Give him a chance._

Her mother had held her. Gemma had held her. Tara, Jax, her father…and none of it had been enough. She wanted to lay naked and pressed up against Hap. Wanted to feel his heart beating against her chest. She didn't even need to be fucked, she just wanted that closeness. The smell of his skin. His strong arms banded around her so tightly she felt untouchable, protected, loved. Loved. He'd loved her so much he'd sought out the Son he thought best to take his place with her, had delivered him up to her on a platter. He'd given her permission, encouraged her, to be with another man, so she'd be "happy".

She knew she didn't have the strength for moving on, that it would wreck her to do what he wanted, but she'd finally opened her phone and dialed Juice. Now she sat on the sofa where he'd left her, waiting. When she heard the slam of a truck door out in the driveway, her heart rate accelerated and she wasn't sure why.

Happy was so stealthy and Juice was anything but as she heard him come in the back door and then the wet soles of his sneakers thumped across the kitchen floor. "Ava? Where are -," he appeared in the doorway and she'd forgotten that he was dressed up, relatively speaking. His black button up was wet from the rain and clung to his chest, the top three buttons undone. She sat up a little straighter as he tilted his head in question, almost smiling even as his brows did that worried thing again. "Hey. You alright?"

Her memory flashed unbidden to their tumble on the floor a few hours before and even as her mind balked, her body was ready to go there again. "No," she answered honestly. "Not even a little bit."

He sighed, and then she watched his eyes land on the bottle of Jack sitting in front of her on the coffee table. "Whoa," his brows scaled his forehead, right up to the edge of his mohawk. "You can't have that."

"I know," she stared longingly at the whiskey. "I just…got it down…but then I remembered…" Ava frowned. "Wait, what are you -,"

"Doc told me." He looked a bit guilty, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "She ran blood tests after you fainted last week.

So he'd known, and he'd still wanted her. "Oh."

"How long have you known?"

She continued to stare at the Jack Daniels and shrugged. "A couple weeks." She rubbed at the headache at the base of her skull, feeling the tangles in her hair that were the product of the wind…and his hands. "It wasn't planned," she added. "Hap didn't know."

It was silent a moment, the rain against the window the only sound, and then Juice sighed – big and loud as the Jansens' bulldog next door – and came to sit next to her on the sofa. She didn't look at him, still trying to digest the way she felt about the wet shirt stuck to his skin. He wasn't content with that, though, wrapping a hand around her bare ankle; the nearest part of her within his reach. He stayed there, touching her, as he toed off his white sneaks and put his stocking feet up on the coffee table. He had a hole in the left one, his big toe sticking through it and Ava snorted a laugh before she could catch herself or even understand why, in light of what had passed between them, she found it so funny.

He wiggled his foot and that just made it worse, her snort turning to a giggle…into an actual laugh. In the midst of all this absolute shit swirling around them, there was his holey sock, and his big toe sticking through it. "I'm sorry," she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. "It really isn't that funny."

He squeezed her ankle. "Nah, I get it." He snorted too. "I don't like to shop."

Ava could hear the insane edge to her tittering and couldn't seem to control it. She was making strangled, high-pitched sounds, covering her hand with her mouth, not laughing so much at Juice anymore, but at the whole situation in general. Jesus Christ…here she was, _pregnant_, sitting on the couch with an old friend she'd fucked, staring at a bottle of whiskey she couldn't drink. And then her eyes fell on the note where it rested beside Juice's foot, and the laughter slowly died to unhealthy whimpers.

"Oh, Juice," she groaned. She pulled her foot away from him, tucking her legs the other way so she could lean sideways into his shoulder. He put his arm around her waist, holding her to him, hand on her hip. His shirt was damp, she could feel it against her own clothes and knew she'd pull away wet, but didn't care. "This is such a fucked up mess."

"Yeah," he sighed and kissed the top of her head. His hand squeezed at the fleshy part of her hip, almost the side of her ass. "I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean for that to -,"

"It's okay. I kinda wanted it too." The little button-down flap on his breast pocket was rumpled after getting wet and she reached absently to straighten it, needing something to do with her hands all of a sudden. She missed that. Human contact. Sitting on the couch, watching a movie with Hap and running her hands across his hard chest; just to comfort herself with the strength she found there.

"You know," Ava started after a long moment of easy silence. "It's the little things that catch me off guard. I ran out of my favorite lotion, it's this vanilla stuff, and I was so upset because I know he likes it and then…I remembered."

He gave her a little squeeze. "So you read it?"

She nodded.

"Do I get to know what it says?"

She started not to tell him anything, because it felt too intimate, too precious to let anyone else know what Hap had said to her in those few paragraphs. She wasn't sure he'd ever said so much with spoken words, and was overwhelmed by the weight of it all. The lightening flared through the window for a while, the thunder booming loudly. She dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "He loved me," she finally whispered. "He really loved me."

"Yeah he did."

"It's not fair. I waited my whole life for him, I'm gonna have his baby, and he's gone. And it's not fair."

His fingers with their short, blunt nails scratched at the top of her thigh, reminding her of Hap's point. _LET HIM. _Let him fuck her? Let him kiss her, touch her, be inside her? If she allowed herself to think about it, without spazzing, the similarities were obvious. Happy, all lean and cut and muscular, half-Mexican and dark; and then Juice; the Puerto Rican beefcake. She could never, ever have found anything attractive about some of the other guys – white, fleshy and hairy.

As wrong as it was, as traitorous as it felt, she couldn't deny that she wanted more of what had happened on the floor. She wanted it with Happy, but Happy was gone, and he wanted to her move on. Wanted her to be "happy". She wanted to be fucked; to have a man over her, body heavy on hers, legs around his waist, sweaty and so close her heart beat against his. But Hap was gone. But Juice was here…and Jesus…there was no denying how amazing that hookup had the potential to be. Whatever he was, Juice was decidedly _not _a doofus in the bedroom; he'd proved that in just a few, desperate seconds.

And she _did _think he was hot. Always had. He didn't have Hap's definition, but there was more muscle mass there, that little bit of baby fat here and there that bulked him up. Shit. Hap had given her his blessing, wanted her to be taken care of in all aspects, even if he wasn't here, even if she wanted to scream for thinking of betraying him, even if it wasn't betrayal because he was dead, even if…

She was breathing hard, the swirling vortex in her head threatening to pull her under. There were too many things she wanted all at once, too many urges and hang ups and trembling emotions.

Juice's hand moved to her head. "I don't know what to do here," he sounded frustrated. "I'll do whatever you want, Ava, but I'm kinda stumbling through the dark here."

She passed her hand across his chest, into his open, wet shirt, skin slick under hand, and a shudder that had nothing to do with grief rippled through her. "Juice," her voice was breathy all of a sudden. It had been six long weeks without even a taste, and that primal need was starting to roar inside her now, drowning out all the logical, sad thoughts that would have kept her in check. His head turned towards her and he wasn't giving her that worried, careful look anymore. His eyelids were heavy, was breathing through parted lips. "I don't even know what I want," she admitted. "But I just _need _somebody…so badly."

She knew the kiss was coming, but this time she didn't try to hasten it, just let it happen. He was careful this time, sweet, hand cupping the back of her head as he rotated on the couch to gain better access. His lips were almost too soft and full to be a man's, just like Hap's had been, and she drew comfort in that familiarity, likewise the well-known taste of cigarette smoke. He was a great kisser, treating her lips like the main course and not just a rushed preview of what he really wanted; took his time, had her neck feeling weak as he deepened the angle and stroked her tongue with his own.

She had a better feel of his chest now and worked the remaining buttons loose one by one, smoothing her palms across his bare pecs as she went. She closed her eyes as her hands went exploring, letting herself imagine what it would be like to try again, for there not to be any clothes between them. If his kiss was any indication of what his mouth could do elsewhere – and she suspected it was – she wanted him at her chest, between her legs. Her nipples were tight buds inside her bra just at the thought. He was a Son, knew what he was doing, and wouldn't be anything but turned on when she begged him to touch her. And hell, what was all the visualization worth when she knew what it felt like to have him inside? This big, buff brown boy was going to make her scream, toes curling when she came.

She was leaning into him, a hand drifting low over his abs, when he pulled back. His hand stayed on the side of her face, thumb rubbing her cheek, and he stared at her mouth. She had never seen him like this, not even when she was a teenager and they were making out. All that goofy charm was gone. He was serious and hungry, though in a soft way, not predatory like Hap, but full of longing.

"I'll be careful this time," he said, voice husky. "I'll go slow. Make you feel good."

Ava shivered, her mind made up. She leaned forward as the sky flashed again beyond the window, kissed him on the corner of his mouth and whispered against his skin. "Then do it. Make me feel good."

There wasn't an ounce of resistance in her – just heat – as he stood and pulled her up with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist for the ride, arms encircling his neck. As he carried her to the bedroom, she rested her cheek against the bolt inked into his head, and felt that somehow, _his _lightening would be just as literal as the stuff that raged outside the house.

**TBC**


	6. Lay it Down

**AN: **No plot really, just smut. You can skip it if you want to…but I don't think most of you will ;)

**...**

**6. Lay it Down**

Ava had great tits. They weren't huge, but were nice and round. Really full. And her head kicked back, mouth falling open when he cupped them in his hands and ran his thumbs over her nipples. He sat on the end of the unmade bed, the girl straddling his lap, grinding against him just a little as he played with her breasts. She'd been curious at first, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and kneading the muscles along the base of his neck. But when he'd unhooked her bra, she'd come undone, nails biting into his skin as she thrust her chest forward, begging for more just with her movements.

It was a little surreal. He'd known her a long time, liked her, had found himself attracted to her in a look-but-don't-touch, from a distance sort of way. She'd always been Happy's and he hadn't dwelled too long or hard on the possibilities…but now, with her topless in his lap, staring at those perfect pink nipples, bogged down with all the bullshit of the past six weeks…he wanted her so badly.

Lightening flickered through the window behind her; her frame washed eerie pale by the effect. He felt her hands on his head, over his tats, as he took her nipple in his mouth. It was a tight, hard little button and she gasped when he grazed it with his teeth, her fingertips digging into his scalp. He banded an arm tightly around her waist, holding her snug as he sucked. She ground harder against him, the white of her hand stark against her black leggings as she let go of him and reached down to touch herself through the fabric. He pulled back a second to watch her, to marvel at the completely different, wound up, sexual creature she'd turned into. Then he nudged her slim little fingers out of the way and stroked her with steady, firm pressure. She bucked against him.

"Christ," she hissed. "You're gonna…you hafta…" he felt her lips on top of his head and went back to her tits, kissing and nipping. Shit, he'd promised to "make her feel good", but his self control was fraying. He was so hard, throbbing, and if she kept up this grinding routine he'd blow his load before he ever made contact.

"I need you to fuck me," Ava whined, still moving against his hand.

Oh…how could he hold off when she put it like that? Juice buried his face between her tits, kissed the soft flesh of the little valley there. "How do you want it? Hmm? Tell me."

Her arms went around his neck and her hair fell over his shoulders like a curtain. "Hard," she said in his ear. "And deep. Really deep. And slow. God…I wanna _feel _it."

This was good. The more she said, the more excited she became, the less likely she was to freak out and shove him off. Because this time, he wasn't going to be able to stop. "Keep talking."

"I want you on top," her voice was pleading. "I wanna cum. I need to cum. Fuck me, fuck me _please…_"

Thunder boomed as he pulled her down to the bed with him and rolled over her.

**-O-**

Ava could feel the muscles moving and pulling along his ribs, in his back, his shoulders…he was just one big straining, rolling bundle of muscle over her. The storm was loud, reaching its crescendo it seemed, but didn't drown out the rough push of exhaled breath in her ear that accompanied every thrust. Braced on his hands, his face in her hair, Juice pounded inside her; slow and hard, just as she'd wanted. Forward and retreat. God, he was thick, rubbing her wet walls in _all _the right places. Her legs were tight around his waist, his hip bones digging into her inner thighs. His weight pushed her down into the mattress, the smell of man sweat and cologne on his neck filling her nostrils as she clung desperately to him.

And somehow, it wasn't enough.

When she closed her eyes she was with Happy. When she opened them, with Juice. And the flickering awareness kept the pleasure at bay, skimming along beneath the surface but unable to break through.

"I need more," she gasped, struggling to find her voice.

His breath caught a moment and his pace increased.

"No." She pushed against him. "Deeper," she urged. She slid a hand down his flexing, glorious back, to the place where his thrusts hinged, and then down to his ass, nails biting in as she tried to grind them even closer together. "Deeper," she repeated, straining. She forced her eyes to stay open, staring at the light show that flashed along the ceiling.

His hips stalled and he groaned in her ear. "The baby…"

"The baby's fine." She felt tears burning at the backs of her eyes and her voice was strangled. "I need this. Can't you go deeper? I know you're big enough. Come on, Juice -,"

One of his hands moved to her hip and he sunk down on top of her, thrusting deep, going until –

Ava inhaled sharply, pain spiking in the pit of her belly as he reached her deep spot. Her head kicked back, teeth gritted as she struggled with the sensation, all while grinding her hips into his, pushing until there wasn't even a hair's breadth between them. "Yeah," she panted, clawing at his back. She buried her face in his throat, and this time, when she closed her eyes, she saw Juice, and was so completely aware of him in and around her…she felt the elusive beginnings of orgasm start teasing her senses.

"Goddamn, girl," his voice was strained. She could feel the cords in his neck popping against her cheek. "I don't know if I can -,"

"Go," she said, feeling herself start to get pulled under by the overwhelming sensation of his cock butting up to her cervix. They were so close she had delicious friction against her clit…it was powerful. It was just what she needed. "Just go."

And he did go. It was exquisitely painful. Intimate. Crazed. Ava bit his shoulder and held desperately as her climax came. Lightening tore open the night beyond the window as he fucked her. Hard. _Deep_. Slow. When she screamed, the thunder answered.

**-O-**

There was a hole – a neat, distinct, gaping hole where her heart had once been. When Hap had gone, he'd taken it with him. As if it had melted and left her empty. Alone. Now, that precise, surgical removal of her heart was a jagged, bloody wound. Her chest was tight, heaving, not just because she still struggled to catch her breath, but because she'd fucked Juice. The sacred place in her body that was Hap's and Hap's alone, was no longer untouched by any other man. And the worst part was, even as she felt herself bleeding out, as the last scraps of her emotional reserve went gushing out of the fresh crater in her torso, she wanted Juice again. Wanted him to fill her up and make her cum so hard…make her body seize up and come alive like it hadn't in six weeks. She'd taken one hit, and needed another, knowing that would only lead to more cravings.

Ava rolled toward him. Juice was on his back, staring at the ceiling, one big hand over his chest as he no doubt waited for his pulse to slow. She wasn't going to be able to look at him the same way anymore. There could be no awkward refusals to admit what had happened. She couldn't go back to thinking of him as the harmless goof she'd wanted to. No, he had fucked her, his equipment and his methods worthy of a dirty hip-hop song.

The light was poor, just a secondary glow from out in the living room, but she could see enough of him. She reached and traced a hand down his arm, over the swell of his bicep. His head rolled toward her and the whites of his eyes seemed to glow. "Was that good for you?" he asked, voice smooth and relaxed.

It was strange. She'd never before associated that voice with that kind of physical presence. She was used to that raspy, rough smoker's voice sending chills down her spine.

Ava nodded, but then said ", yeah," when she figured he couldn't see her. Her touch moved up again, over the point of his shoulder, then across his chest. "Very good."

He grinned tiredly, teeth flashing white.

That gaping hole in her chest hurt so much. Here she was with this sweet, sexy, really _good _man, and all she wanted was _her _man. As ecstasy faded, the twisting, crippling grief returned. The only time she hadn't felt like her insides were clawing their way out was when…she'd been under him. Warm, hot, scalding as he'd poured his sympathies into her, literally. Pregnancy meant no risk of such, meant no condoms, meant nothing between her starved skin and all that he had to offer. She needed more.

The sheets rustled as she moved and his arms came up, hands settling on her hips as she straddled him. Ava put her palms on his chest and leaned forward, squeezing her tits together with her arms the way Hap liked. But instead of the hard, predatory stare she expected – the curled lip and the cursed promises of things he'd do to her for being a tease – she was met with a pleased smile and whole lot of soft, open admiration and lust from Juice.

He grinned. "You want on top?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to focus on the hardness of his cock against her thigh and not the pained scream that bubbled low in her throat. _This isn't right. _But she nodded and leaned down low, until her hard nipples brushed against his skin, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss at the base of his throat. He murmured something she didn't understand and his hands moved to her ass – not possessive, just rubbing lightly, giving her goose bumps.

It was something she'd always loved to do with Hap; go exploring, finding and tasting all the little nicks, scars, and tats on his body with her mouth. If the way his hips bucked under was any indication, he liked it too. She trailed her lips lower, until she could trace the tat that ran beneath his nipple with her tongue. He shivered, she could feel it in the hands that ran gently over his ribs, and felt her own desire building once more, tamping down the noise in her head. There were a lot of things she couldn't do mentally right now, but she could ride him like a rodeo bull.

**-O-**

She was asleep. Finally, peacefully asleep. Juice had dozed off for a while, but a late, rallying crack of thunder had stirred him again. Ava remained deep in slumber though, her breaths even and slow across his chest. She lay fully on top of him, all of her meager weight on his body. Her head was tucked up under his chin, hair falling all around his shoulders, and her arms were under his, hands on the backs of his shoulders. Hugging him, holding on for dear life in sleep. He hugged her back, both arms around her shoulders.

The night had been intense; powerful, frightening almost in its level of intimacy. Fucking was fun for Juice – he liked to switch it up, play around. But except for the one, cataclysmic time she'd climbed on top and ridden him into a mind-numbing state of bliss – damn, that girl could ride it – it had been straight-forward. On top of her, fucking her over and over. She was so tight, so wet, so fucking _good _to be inside…and then her hands all over him, pressing her chest to his, begging, pleading, needing it all so desperately as if she were in a fevered delirium. She hadn't blown him, he hadn't tasted her…but just this night of back to back orgasms, of feeling all the power that was there in her thin, seemingly weak arms…had him running gentle caresses down her spine as she slept, wanting her again even though his body was exhausted.

It wasn't like taking a girl home from a bar, or hooking up with a Crow Eater, or even spending the night with Sarah who he'd left behind at the club like a total douche. But he couldn't feel bad about that now. All the sadness, the grief, the heartache that had been hanging over him these weeks felt lifted; not completely, but some. And goddamn…Ava…he wanted her again and again.

His hand lingered on the small of her back and he frowned. She needed to go to the doctor, make sure everything checked out with the baby and ensure that he indeed wasn't going to hurt anything. Because this night wasn't going to be the last of _that _– it just couldn't be.

Sleep was tugging at him mercilessly again, reminding him that he only had a few hours before he had to head to T-M. He rolled carefully to the side, still holding her, Ava still holding him as she remained thankfully asleep. He kept her against his chest, hooking a foot over her slim ankles as his eyelids flagged and he pulled in one last deep breath. Whatever tomorrow brought, this had been right. This was good. And Ava…was amazing.

**TBC**


	7. Hustler

**7. Hustler**

"Juice."

"Juice!"

He started, slapping a hand down on the redwood table. Where was he…? Oh, chapel. At church. Shit…had he…

He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, coming away wet with drool. He was listing hard to the side, practically falling on Bobby. Shit. He'd fallen asleep. At the table.

"You with us, man?" Jax asked, voice aggravated.

"Yeah." He straightened in his chair, jerking his cut in order over his T-M work shirt. Cleared his throat. His brothers were looking at him strangely, Chibs especially who had his eyes narrowed to dark little slits. Fuck, did they know? No way.

Across from the Scot, Tig chuckled darkly. "Late night?"

He grimaced when he remembered the dark love bite on his neck. There was no denying _what _had kept him awake all night. He only hoped the _who _was still a mystery.

Ava had still been sleeping like the dead when he'd climbed out of the shower that morning. She hadn't stirred while he'd dressed, when he'd leaned down and kissed her forehead, nor when he'd shut the bedroom door. That was good. She needed to sleep. He'd called Neeta – offering her twice what she was worth for an hour – to see if she could stop by on her way to Jax and Tara's place to make sure Ava was okay. Once she was up, dressed, had eaten hopefully, he needed to talk to her about making a doctor's appointment. Yep. Last night had meant something. It was time for her to take care of herself. She was still hurting…damn was she hurting…but she had to face her future and what it meant with that baby he wasn't entirely convinced he hadn't hurt somehow with all her "deeper" ideals.

"_Juice_," Jax demanded again, and he realized he was staring blankly at Opie, still not contributing his full attention to the meeting.

"Oh." He put his hands in his lap and swiveled his chair so he could face the indignant President. "Sorry, man, I'm here."

Jax snorted, but glanced back to the print outs in his hands. "Yeah. She must have been really worth it," he said sarcastically.

Damn, if he knew he was referring to his cousin, Jax would have been decidedly more interested.

**-O-**

Waking up was a slow process of realizations; each new one more disturbing than the last. She was naked. She was alone. And the smell was off. She shifted under the covers, enjoying the cool softness of the sheets against her naked skin even as she tried to place the wrongness of her setting. She was sore. Very sore. The insides of her thighs bruised and painful at just the slightest touch.

Still confused, Ava sought her sole source of comfort over these past six weeks. She rolled onto her stomach and buried her face in the hollow of the neighboring pillow, breathing deeply the scent that lingered…and that's when she knew what was off. The familiar, fading, dusky smell of Hap was gone. And the fresh reminder of Juice clung to her sheets. She sat up swiftly, bringing a lock of her too-long hair to her nose…and he was on her too. Juice – Juice had replaced Hap's scent with his. Happy was…gone.

She moved in a flurry, arms and legs kicking and pulling at the sheets, ending up on her hands and knees, inhaling in great draws. Shaking. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no, no…"

She closed her eyes and the night returned to her. Juice over her. Juice in her. Juice fucking her again and again. Juice making her cum. Making her scream. Making her crave his sex like oxygen. Juice, Juice, Juice, Juice, Juice…

She curled up, her forehead on the mattress, and stayed like that, teeth clenched against her nauseas. "I'm so sorry, Hap," she wailed against the sheets that smelled like another man. "It didn't mean anything, baby. I'm so sorry."

Dear God, what would he say to her? Do to her? He wouldn't want to touch her, to even look at her, too disgusted by the trust she'd betrayed. By the grievance she'd committed against him – her beloved Old Man – by sleeping with another. In some clubs, what she'd done with Juice was enough to get her killed, her one-time lover too. But even though that wasn't the case, Hap's rejection would be all the worse, the disappointment and pain in his eyes when he told her…

_For me, just let Juice be there. The poor idiot's doing his best; just give him a chance, even though he's not me. I don't want you alone, I know it's gotta be hard, but try to be happy._

Oh…that's right. Happy was…and Juice had been…and she was…

Ava pushed up onto her elbows, lifting her head and breathing in clean air, away from the sheets that no longer smelled like her man, but the one she'd used. Used? Was that the right word? Staring at the crease in the pillow, a strong, vivid memory of his mouth on her neck as he'd drilled into her flashed in her mind. She shuddered and pulled the sheet tighter around her. No, not used. She'd been hurting and he was too, in his own way, and the weather and he'd been there, and Hap's note had just created the perfect storm. And she'd needed him.

She sat up straighter, feeling every twinge and pull in her stiff muscles. She traced a hand along the inside of her thigh, angering the bruise there, and then up to her stomach. She cringed as she recalled her demands. Damn, she was _pregnant. _It had been good though, damn good.

Ava was numb and knew it; that she wasn't right in the head. Her momentary panic upon waking had just been a glimpse of what was brewing beneath the surface. Knowing that and being unable to do anything but keep the bubble-wrap walls up either made her smart – or truly insane. Either way, she couldn't stay in bed today, not with these Juice-scented sheets.

It was like seeing the house for the first time as she prepared for the day. The foreign toothbrush, razor and bottle of mouthwash on the bathroom counter; the bar of Ivory soap in the shower; the black t-shirt with the green skull design thrown over her desk chair; the duffel bag that lay open at the foot of the bed, jeans and shirts spilling out. Little mementos, reminders of a third person in this haven that had been for her and Hap.

But for the first time in six weeks, she put on her makeup, blow dried her hair that had grown down to the middle of her back. She stood in front of the open closet doors for ten minutes, staring at the line of demarcation between her hanging clothes and his. Finally, with a sigh, she pulled on her cute skinny jeans with the distressed knees, her reliable black boots, long-sleeve tee, and finally Hap's old white SAMCRO shirt over it.

Her kitchen looked like a war zone, and at the table, sipping coffee from a portable mug, was Neeta. "Mornin'."

"Morning," Ava was too distracted by the box of Hostess powdered sugar doughnuts on the table to become too concerned about the nanny's presence so early. Suddenly, she was starving, arms quivering as she lifted the top and pulled out one of the deep-fried, sugared up cholesterol rings. She hadn't eaten anything but some dry toast in days, and now she'd had any nervous energy reserves fucked right out of her. She choked down three, eating over the open box, trying to ignore Neeta's stare.

Afterward, she found a dish rag on the counter, wiped off the sugar, and found a half-empty pint of chocolate milk in the fridge was that was still in date; a Juice purchase, had to be. She drank out of the bottle and turned to Neeta as she capped it and put it back. "Why are you here?"

If she was disturbed by the uncouth manners, she said nothing, shrugging. "Your boy wanted me to check up on you." She nodded and almost smiled. "I'd say somethin's got you in a better mood."

Ava brought a hand reflexively to the mark on her neck. Juice had a few too. It had gotten…_intense_. Another of those unwelcome shudders went through her, reminding her that grief or no, she was a very satisfied girl this morning.

Neeta's grin twitched and she scowled. "I don't expect you to understand." Her tone was cold, but she couldn't seem to help it.

"Oh, little girl, I understand plenty."

Ava stood a moment, trying to read through the cryptic message there, and whether or not it was approving, for that matter. Finally, she hefted her bag off the back of the chair she'd dropped it over weeks ago and grabbed the keys off the counter. "You don't have to hang out today. I'm leaving."

"Where you goin'?"

The question was innocent enough, but it elicited a frown. "To see him," she said under her breath as she headed for the door.

**-O-**

It was a gorgeous day; the sky cloudless and blue, autumn air crisp like the atmosphere had been scrubbed clean by the previous day's storm. All the oppressive humidity that had heralded the most bizarre afternoon of his life was gone, and though sleepy, if he admitted it, Juice was happier than he'd been in weeks.

"Juicy-boy," he heard the rap of knuckles against the fender of the Caprice he was working on, as if the nickname and accent weren't enough to give the speaker's identity away.

"Hey." He pulled out from under the hood and found Chibs giving him an odd look over the rims of his shades. Better to play this innocent. "What's up?"

The Scotsman folded his arms and propped a boot on the air filter box sitting beside the car, gazing out toward the parking lot. Oh. It was going to be one of _those _conversations. "How is she?" Chibs asked, voice suddenly thick. He cleared his throat.

Juice shrugged. "I dunno…I think she's a little better."

"Yeah?" he glanced over, expression hard to read, but just a little bit hopeful.

"You know, she's still pretty fucked up. But I got her out of the house yesterday."

Chibs twitched a single brow.

"Yeah. Took her shooting. I think…" he winced a little, standing here with her father while he remembered the highlight – high_lights_ – of his evening with her "…that's she's coming out of it. Maybe just a little."

The VP sighed. "This shouldn't have landed on you, kid. It ain't right."

That's what he had though…at first. Right after the funeral, this panicked wave had crashed over him. What the hell was he supposed to do here? Hap had been clear; that he was to take care of Ava in _all _respects. But he'd been dating and wasn't sure he was even up for a pep talk, much less this whole caretaker gig. He'd proven himself wrong, though, over the past six weeks.

"You're a good boy, Juice." Chibs squeezed his shoulder. "I know you don't wanna do this."

He gave him a little facial shrug. "It's family." He thought he pulled off casual well. Because after last night, he wasn't sure what he wanted. Or what he meant by "family" anymore.

Chibs glanced away again, nodding, and then his hand tightened on Juice's shoulder. "Aye. I'd say she's better."

"How do you…?" he joined the Scot's assessment of the parking lot and recognized Ava's truck with a jolt. His pulse became irregular as he watched her climb out of the cab and shut the door. She was dressed, her hair looked shiny and smooth, the parts of her face not covered by huge aviator shades enhanced with a light touch of makeup. It was the first time in six weeks that she'd ventured out alone. And she didn't go toward the office to see her mother; she walked to the open roll top doors, head flicking up every so often to search for…something…from behind the relative cover of her shades. It wasn't that she took his breath away, but Juice felt a tightening of some sort in his gut. Snippets of memory ran through his head like ticker tape; the night, her body, her urgings…and he was warm because of it. A smile threatened at the corners of his mouth.

Juice was aware of Chibs backing away but not leaving completely; lingering between the two bays, an arm propped on a tool chest. Ava came all the way up to the yawning threshold and then stopped, arms folded. She scuffed a toe across the concrete and stared down as he walked – slowly, as if not to startle an antelope in a field – around to the trunk of the car and leaned back against it, hands on his hips. "Hey."

Her head snapped up and her face was blank a moment, like she'd forgotten where she was and why she'd come. But then she caught herself, smiled almost, and reached to push her shades up into her hair. She looked better. Good even. Pretty; dark eyes clear and not red-rimmed or puffy as they had been. Juice allowed his smile to widen and she slowly did the same. She wasn't herself; not the confident, smirking girl he'd always known. But this was a little better. This was more of the real Ava than he'd seen since the funeral.

"Hey," she answered, still holding herself, still uneasy, but smiling.

Juice was very aware of Chibs lurking back behind him. _Fuck it. _"You look good," he said with a nod. "You feel better?"

She tilted her head, mahogany hair catching the sun, and her eyes did a fast little drop and skip from his boots to his face. _Whoa. _He hadn't expected that. "Yeah," she said softly, reaching to tuck a stray lock behind her ear. Her face shifted, became warmer almost, the smile more genuine. This was such good progress, and honestly, it was making him a little…tingly…looking at her and remembering what she'd been like. There were reasons her age hadn't mattered to Hap; and they hadn't all been "love" related.

They stood like that a moment, not-so-subtly measuring one another visually and replaying the mental porn shoot that had been the night before. It was nice though, even with Chibs watching off to the side. He knew Ava was balanced; teetering on the edge of grief and obvious agreement with whatever it was that was developing. She was bound to fall; the question was just one of direction.

She met his eyes and there was almost a hint of a sad spark. For a moment, he let himself dwell on years past, back when they'd had this tight bond over pretty much everything except sex. This was different. But maybe different was okay. It had certainly _felt _okay.

He took a step, and then so did she, and the moment – even with Chibs back there – had the potential to be a sweet, careful acceptance on her part. He wouldn't grope her in front of her father or anything. But she looked like she needed a little more human contact and he was more than ready to provide that. Ava was giving him a look she'd never directed toward him before and he was reaching for her, hand nearing her arm, when his eyes happened to catch the green Honda he hadn't noticed before. And the blond climbing out of it.

And then his nice afternoon turned to shit.

**-O-**

"Oh. Wow."

Opie had come into the office to leave a big stack of repo orders on her desk and Maggie, who'd waved at him without looking away from the computer, glanced up now. He stood peering through the gapped blinds of the window, arms folded. "What?" she asked, already turning back to her keyboard.

"Ava's here," he said and Maggie was at his side in an instant, pushing the blinds further apart with her hands.

"Where…" and then she trailed off when she saw Ava's narrow frame from the back as she stepped hesitantly up to the open roll top door of one of the garage bays. Inside, half in and half out of the shade, recognizable by his black, baggy jeans, was Juice. "Oh," she put a hand over her open heart scar out of reflex. "She came to see Juice….oh…."

"Um, are you gonna cry?"

"No," she said firmly, blinking. "She hasn't been out of the house since the funeral, Ope." She pulled in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, almost light-headed. "Remind me to kiss that doofus. He's made me a very happy mama this morning."

Opie half-turned and gave her a little smile. "Don't think he needs a kiss…pretty sure that already happened."

Maggie watched a moment, saw the way Ava was leaning and Juice was moving off the trunk of the car, and then what he'd said cut through the fog of sudden happiness in her head. "No!" she gasped, meeting his gaze. "Did they…?"

"Well, somebody marked up his neck. And Ava's here? That's suspicious to me."

Maggie frowned. It wasn't possible to be more focused on a person than Ava had been with Happy. She hadn't been sure her daughter would ever be able to move on, and certainly not this soon. She sighed. This wasn't a sign of mental health.

"Oh, shit," Opie muttered.

"What?" Maggie glanced through the window again in time to see a pretty blond in a dress and heels approaching the couple. "Who's that?"

"Juice's girlfriend."

**-O-**

Juice really did look good, Ava thought. He had a few hickeys on his neck and his eyes seemed tired, but still good. She'd always thought so…but now he was good in a different way. A way that made her suddenly aware that he wasn't just a Son, but a man too. This was all new territory for her and it was frightening. But he looked good. And that was a start.

Ava heard the rap of heels on the pavement behind her before Juice's eyes cut in that direction. She didn't understand his panicked expression, thinking it was Gemma, until she turned. A blond girl – young, classic hourglass figure, angelic face, blue eyes – was walking up to the garage doors, her navy pumps matching the single, vertical stripe on her white dress. She was pretty, so obviously not club-affiliated, and smiled broadly as she approached the open bay door. She didn't spare Ava so much as a glance, instead walking straight to Juice, not at all deterred by the odd look on his face.

"Hey, baby!" she greeted brightly, bracing a hand on his chest as she leaned up for a kiss. Juice averted his head, her lips landing on his jaw instead, which made her frown and rub slow circles across the front of his T-M shirt. "What's wrong with you lately, huh? Last night and now today? You're all out of sorts, handsome."

Ava's eyes didn't seem to want to focus anywhere but on the girl's hand; the French-tipped, manicured nails that caressed the same chest she had the night before. The chest where she'd braced her palms as she'd worked her hips in slow, grinding circles. The chest she'd used as a pillow afterwards. And here this girl was touching it and busting out the "baby" and all that. Touching his chest. Kissing his face. _Looking _at him. And for all the kissing, licking, clawing, fucking that had occurred between them the night before, Juice had this blond girl calling him "baby"..

Ava was such a blind fool. To imagine that she'd thought…hoped…that she'd betrayed…that she'd let him…

It became hard to see and she realized there were tears pouring out of her eyes, running down her cheeks, streaking her makeup. She blinked and glanced up, made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Guilty. That's what he was. Completely guilty and giving her that puppy dog look, even as the girl kept touching him.

Ava started to shake; toes twitching inside her boots, fingers curling into claws, body quaking.

And then Blondie turned towards her, smile faltering a moment when she saw the tears that were no doubt the color of her mascara. "Oh…_oh. _Ava, right?" She extended a hand, the other still on Juice, as if she intended to greet her formally.

Juice looked like he might be having heart palpitations. "Ava, it's not what it - ,"

"_No_," she hissed, bringing a hand up to stop his reach. The girl recoiled, moving into Juice's chest as if for protection. A shadow moved deeper inside the garage bay – Chibs emerging from his hiding place. The sight of him, her forever absent father, and this…_traitor_…brought a growl up out of the depths of her throat. "Fuck you, Juice," she ground out, tears running hot, sobs threatening to crack her voice in half. She turned and stumbled toward the office, shouting over her shoulder as she went.

"Fuck _you_!"

**TBC**


	8. If You Dare

**AN: **Admittedly not by best work, but I wanted to get this out so no one was left hanging after last chapter.

…

**8. If You Dare**

Oh, fuuuuuuuuck….

"Babe, what was -,"

Juice took two giant steps back from Sarah, knocking her hand away with his arm. Ava, poor little broken Ava, hanging by a frayed thread, had just been ground into dust, beneath his own boot no less. The tears and the black, hateful look in her eyes had told him all he'd needed to know; that all the progress she'd made had just been overturned, and that he'd seriously wounded a member of his MC family. And that hurt. Dates, drinks, conversation and sex…none of that even began to tip the scales in Sarah's favor. He wasn't truly angry with her, she hadn't known, but he'd fucked Ava over so bad and she was his only concern at the moment.

"Juice," Sarah reached for him again.

"Go," he told her, not sparing her a look as he headed toward the office. "Get out of here. We're done."

He kept walking and heard the clatter of her heels as she came after him. "What? Are you serious? Juice!"

His hands curled into fists and he wasn't sure why. Felt his jaw clenching. He spun and aimed a steady finger toward her car. Sarah had her hands clasped together, pale brows drawn over her pretty blue eyes. So confused. And Juice felt his own face become hard, unaffected by her pleading look and quivering lip. "Get in your car," he said levelly. "And don't come back. We're through."

For some reason, his sympathies refused to engage as she shook her head and closed her eyes against tears. This was fabulous; he'd made two chicks cry at once. Officially the worst three way _ever_. Juice lingered just a moment, half-turned toward the office again, and saw Chibs following him.

"It's alright, darlin'," he offered Sarah and Juice bristled, just a bit. Here he was comforting a girl he didn't even know, while his actual daughter was devastated beyond measure. "Juicy-boy, just give her a minute," the Scot called to him next. "Let her mum handle this, you'll only get in the way."

And that was exactly the problem. Chibs had been letting Ava's "mum" handle things her whole life.

He dismissed the VP with a wave and resumed his pace. Behind him, he heard angry high heels clip across the pavement. Not caring should have been his first warning that his head was in a dangerous place, but he'd always had too many disorganized thoughts to pick out the voice of his conscience.

**-O-**

It was that horrible night all over again; when the guys had come home, broken and bloody, with the most devastating news for Ava. She'd been hysterical then and was hysterical now. Her eyes and nose ran, face wet and smeared with what was left of her makeup. She sobbed and cursed incoherent things, the sound like a cussing, braying donkey that's heart had been run through with a railroad spike. Ava clenched fistfuls of tissue from the box on the corner of the desk, swiping at her cheeks, fuming, shaking, and rocking in the chair where she sat, knees pulled up to her chest. Every few garbled insults or so, Maggie caught the distinct, hissed sound of ", motherfucker," and then the sobs would get cranked up again. Ava was like a little engine, fading to a grumble and then revving again with a woebegone squeal.

It wasn't pretty, and Maggie had already waved Opie out. She'd tried to hug her daughter, but that didn't seem to do anything but earn her a flailing elbow in the ribs, so now she stood on the other side of the desk, fighting her own tears, and murmuring soothing words the girl wasn't interpreting.

Maggie was going to kill Juice, just take a crowbar to the side of his stupid, tattooed head. That little moron was….

At the office door, she could see him through the blinds, had his hand on the knob and was turning it, was coming in. _Oh fuck no. _Maggie charged the door, snatched it open, and forced him back a step as she stepped out. "What the hell, dumbass?" she demanded. Juice backed up further, palms out. "Are you fucking retarded?"

"Hey, whoa," his eyes were huge. "Let me talk to her, okay? It's not what it looks like."

"Oh really? Because it _looks _like you _fucked _my grieving daughter, and then paraded your girlfriend around in front of her!"

"Mags," she heard Opie's voice off to the side. "Calm down."

She ignored him, hands finding her hips as she stared down the techie-nerd biker in front of her. She saw the marks on his neck – fingernails and lips – and her anger morphed into something darker and sadder. "Do you not understand what you're playing with here? She isn't," her voice cracked ", stable. And she's hurting so badly."

His brows cranked down in an uncharacteristic display of anger. "I know -," he caught himself though, sighing, hands falling to his sides. "I know," he repeated softly. He shook his head, lost. "Last night…I haven't had a chance to break up with Sarah. I didn't mean to do this to her."

Maggie sighed. She was tired and the fight drained out of her in an instant. She had trouble remembering that Juice was caught in this whirlpool with her. She laid a hand on his cheek. "I know, sweetheart." He leaned away from her touch, trying to peer around her shoulder into the office from whence strangled, inhuman sounds still came. "Let me talk her down. You can come by the house later and say whatever you need to. _But_, before I go in there, I need to know your position on all this."

The bridge of his nose scrunched up, but he nodded. "Yeah. I'm in."

Maggie raised her brows. "You sure?"

"Absolutely."

She gave him one last searching look, found nothing to the contrary, and sighed. "Okay. I'll see what I can do."

Ava sucked in a huge, shuddering breath as Maggie reentered the office and closed the door. "Don't let him come in here," she managed, dashing at her face.

"He's going back to the garage, baby," Maggie assured, taking the seat next to her. She rubbed her back as the girl dissolved into tears again. "You wanna tell me what happened?" It was breaking her heart, but she managed a smile. "I'm a cool mom, remember? You can tell me anything, Ava."

Ava closed her eyes tightly, pressed a black-smeared tissue to them and nodded. "I know," she choked out.

Maggie leaned closer, until their heads nearly touched. "I don't think Juice meant for that girl to show up," she said. "He's really upset about it."

"I don't give a shit!" Ava exploded, sitting upright and flinging her arms out to the side. Her tissues looked like pom-poms in her hands. Her face was creased with so much angst and hurt that she seemed alien, not even herself anymore. "He has a girlfriend!" she shrieked. "And I…I'm so fucking stupid! I let him…and Happy…and in with the baby. _With my baby! _Oh no…with my…and Hap's…I let him in with my baby."

Maggie recoiled as if she'd been slapped. Had she heard right? "What are you saying, baby?" she felt her pulse accelerate.

Ava glanced over, brown eyes red and swollen. "I'm," she pulled in another breath with a hiccup ", eight weeks pregnant."

"Oh." Maggie had been praying for this moment, selfishly waiting for the day her daughter made her a grandmother. She'd had her tubes tied during Ava's c-section – her heart condition made another pregnancy too risky – and she'd been watching Gemma with her grandsons for awhile now, wanting some of her own. She had planned the scene in her head; Ava bounding in, all smiles, shooting Hap that blushing, pleased look over her shoulder as she reached for him, Happy rolling his eyes and sighing in a way that made him look reluctant, but unable to do anything but love and support his girl. They would have had such pretty, trim, dark-skinned babies.

And here was that moment, all of it wrong, Ava weeping uncontrollably. Maggie's happiness was brief and soon replaced by the crushing, empathetic grief Ava was feeling. The baby – the one she hadn't even known she'd wanted until her miscarriage three years ago – was coming, but Hap was gone.

"Baby," Maggie reached for her and Ava held up an arm, lurching forward in her chair.

"I'm gonna…"

Maggie grabbed the wastebasket and set it in front of the distraught girl just in time. Afterward, Ava sat back and closed her eyes, whining like a kicked dog. "Fucking doughnuts."

**-O-**

"You alright, brother?"

Juice started to lie, but that was hard to do around Opie, so he shook his head, coughing a humorless laugh as he raised his cigarette to his lips again. "I fucked up big time, Ope," he said on the exhale.

It was quiet a moment, and then the picnic table creaked as Opie climbed up beside him. "Don't see you like this much," he said. "Jax and Chibs are the ones with all the female drama."

Juice snorted.

"You've been seeing Sarah a few weeks now. This thing with Ava must be important."

"I don't know what it is," he sighed. "I was just trying to do what I was supposed to, you know? And then it got a little…"

"Kinky?"

"…out of control."

Opie made a sound of agreement. "Careful. That's how that whole Old Lady thing gets started."

Juice studied the knuckles of the hand that held his smoke, tracing the familiar detailing of his three gold rings. All faces. All skeletons. He had been an outsider, not born into the club like Jax or Opie, and he'd given over completely to it. It was all he was anymore. And here he kept trying to hook up with girls who didn't know or understand his world. There was a reason he didn't have an Old Lady yet…he hadn't found one capable. The things he wanted; the warmth, companionship, the sparkle and personality, the whole package came with a price. And that price was the club. But with Ava…

He shook his head. "It might be too late for that warning."

"Hey," Tig's nasal voice cut the soothing calm that was hanging out with Opie. "What the fuck's going on out here?"

"Ava's having a bit of a meltdown," Opie supplied.

But that wasn't good enough for Tig. He came up alongside the picnic table, wiping his greasy hands with a rag. He was staring toward the office, knowing where the girl must have gone if said meltdown had occurred. "Jesus," he muttered ", is she still at that shit?"

Juice ditched his smoke to the pavement and turned to face the Sgt at Arms. "Really, man? Can't you feel sorry for _anyone_? This is hard on her."

"I know it is," he shrugged. "But it's time to be a big girl. Everybody keeps coddling her little ass she won't ever get over it."

Juice scowled. "_Get over it_? This is Ava we're talking about. She worshipped Hap."

"Look at you, gettin' all defensive," Tig smirked. He motioned toward his neck. "She the one who left you the souvenirs? What'd you do, dumbass, make her cry?"

He wanted to deny it, but he couldn't. It was hard to remember the last time he'd actually upset a female.

"Ava came and then Sarah showed up," Opie answered for him.

"That blond you been fucking?"

Juice nodded, miserable.

"Shit, man! Ha! Wish I'd seen the claws come out."

"No claws," Juice said with a sigh. "Just…crying."

Tig snorted. "Don't tell me you blew off the other one for Hap's sloppy seconds."

"Don't call her that."

"Aww, you did, didn't you?" Tig shook his head. "Goddamn, do you have any idea what kinda crazy you're getting into? That one's a fucking psycho."

"Shut up, Tig." He refused to believe that. Yet.

**-O-**

Slowly, Ava was overtaken with an unshakeable, irrefutable calm. The answer, the exit ramp to this Godforsaken nightmare had been staring her in the face this whole time. She knew what she had to do, and as she mopped up the last of her ruined makeup and salty mixture of tears and snot, she came to a decision.

When Maggie stepped into the bathroom, Ava took her chance and left. She kept the radio off in the truck, aware of every chrome detail, every stitch of the black Harley seat covers and who had purchased it all for her. The same man who'd inked his name into her skin. Who'd given her a child. She didn't just miss him, she needed him, more than anything else. She was going to find him.

The house was empty, silent save for the low-pitched hum of the refrigerator. Ava didn't bother to lock the back door, going straight to the bedroom. She pulled her jacket off and rolled up her sleeves as she stared at the still-open closet doors. It was in there somewhere; she'd seen it when she had sorted through the heap of his clothes on the floor, pressing the shirts to her face and sitting, just wishing, and crying. There weren't any tears in her eyes now. She knew what she was going to do. She had a plan.

She knelt at the threshold of the closet and started searching, feeling each article of clothing, looking carefully. Her fingers found it first, brushing over the smooth, tan leather. Ava pushed aside the sweatshirt and then pulled it out; Hap's bowie knife inside its scabbard.

It was heavier than she remembered, the hilt cool in her hand…not warm from being against his hip. No matter.

Ava flipped the little button-down leather thong that kept the knife in place, and then drew it out, slowly, the steel hissing against the interior of the sheath. The mid afternoon sun pouring through the windows glinted off the impressive flat of the blade, sliding to the point. She could almost hear the TV _ding _effect it should have produced. The knife was winking at her, telling her it would be okay.

She thought about that last morning. Jax had called; there was a big job to be done and he wanted Hap there, needed the "killer" to assist in whatever brutal thing they were planning. But he hadn't been brutal when he'd tipped her head back at the kitchen table, a hand tangled in her hair, and kissed her. That little almost smile, the dip of his head. _"I'll call ya, baby. We can do pizza tonight." _She thought about the way the light had washed over him, coming in through the open kitchen door and welcoming him like heaven. She thought about that, her last image of him, and put the edge of the blade against her wrist.

"Ava."

She hadn't heard the car pull up or the back door open, but Maggie was behind her now.

"Ava," she repeated. "What are you -," her question turned into a gasp as she turned, letting her mother see the knife.

A moment passed, a heartbeat, and then Maggie moved. Like a snake striking, she crossed the bedroom, hand shooting out, and she wrenched the knife out of Ava's grasp. She flung it and it hit the wall with a metallic clatter, falling to the floor. "What the _hell _is wrong with you?" she screamed, grabbing her by the shoulders. She shook her. "Jesus Christ, Ava! What were you _thinking_?"

"I -,"

"Don't you dare! Don't you fucking dare do that shit again! Jesus, how…what…" Maggie hit her knees, their faces in line, her hazel eyes huge. "I almost died carrying you to term, Ava. I worked so hard, this whole club, _Happy _worked so hard to keep you safe. To watch you grow up. So you listen to me, little girl, right now." Tears started in slow rolls down her cheeks, but her voice didn't break. "You did not come this far, get this strong, just to check out now. _I won't let you. He _wouldn't want you to. You think Hap wants that? You think he wants you dead? Don't disgrace what he did for you that way. Don't you dare try to hurt my grandbaby like that!"

Maggie moved her hands to either side of Ava's head, forcing their gazes to hold. "I love you. Your family loves you. And wherever he is, Hap loves you. I know this is that hardest, most awful pain in the world, baby, I do. Because thinking about what you were about to do…shit…promise me you won't try this again. Promise me."

Ava nodded. Her chest was starting to hurt, all this pressure building within it.

"Because when it's born," Maggie went on ", you're gonna love that baby more than anything else in the world. You have to hold onto that. That's your piece of Hap, okay? Don't let go."

The tightness in her chest swelled, and then she was crying too, but not like at the garage, not over whatever the fuck Juice had done. Crying because she'd almost done exactly what Happy had worked for twenty one years to prevent. She cried because her mother, her cousins, her family had managed to keep her alive all this time…and she'd almost killed her own child. Her own, last piece of Hap.

She and Maggie sat for a long time on the floor, holding each other.

**-O-**

It was dark when Juice made it to the house. Maggie's Cadillac was in the drive, light coming through the little window panes of the back door. He'd said earlier that he was "in", and maybe he was, but he could have turned away. He didn't have to go inside and invite whatever was to become of what he'd started with Ava. But he peeked through the glass and saw Maggie at the sink, hands braced on the counter, staring down the drain.

Her head snapped up when he entered, and then she sighed like maybe she'd been expecting someone else. "Hey."

"Hey."

Sometimes – rarely – he forgot that she was Gemma's first cousin and that there was a lot of common blood flowing there. Maggie was a little more sugar than spice most of the time, unless someone messed with her kid. Messing with her kid was _bad. _But he thought he'd patched that up at the garage earlier. Here she was, looking very Gemma-like and unhappy, and he hoped it wasn't because of him. Younger, blond, it would have been easy to forget, but tonight, there was no questioning this woman's lineage.

"What?" he asked of the harsh look she was giving him.

"She, um…" She glanced down at her diamond, twirling the ring with the neighboring finger. When she met his gaze again, he realized it wasn't anger clouding her eyes, but something worse. Something desperate and afraid. "She's in a bad spot," she said with a sigh, sinking into a kitchen chair. "What happened today pushed her too far."

"Wait," Juice pulled out the chair across from her and sat hard, leaning over the table. "She didn't -,"

"Almost," Maggie whispered. "Almost."

"Shit." He rubbed a hand back across his mohawk. How did this situation keep getting worse instead of better? When the fuck was he going to catch a break?

"You got a joint?"

Wordlessly, he dug one out of an interior cut pocket, lit it, and passed it to her.

She took two hits, tilting her head back to exhale the smoke up in a plume, and then passed it back, fixing him with a serious look. "Ava's damaged. Probably worse than any of us thought."

He nodded.

"Juice, you need to think long and hard about what you want here." She tilted her head. "Because you're a sweet guy and I love ya, but what happened today can _never _happen again. Ava can't be your plaything."

"That's not what she is. Not at _all_."

"Good." She took the joint back. "But I need to know something."

He sighed. "What?"

"Do you love her?"

It was a straightforward question, but the answer was anything but. Ava had been in Charming since she was thirteen. He'd watched her grow up, to an extent. She was the other truly intelligent chick he knew. Loved all the pop culture guilty pleasures he couldn't talk about to his brothers. Of course he loved her, she was family. But did he _love _her? Lat night had been the most emotionally invested sex he'd ever had, but….was that love? Or just the tangled web of grief she'd thrown over him?

"In a lot of ways, yes," he answered. "But I can't make some huge statement now -,"

"No," she cut him off. "This can't be a 'see where it goes', 'we're just having fun' thing. That would kill her, literally kill her, Juice. You can't come into her life in that way, right now, and expect to make a clean break later."

He scowled. "Well I don't know what to do. Do I love her? Yeah. Do I want her? Hell yeah. But I can't tell you that she'll be my Old Lady and all that happily ever after shit."

Maggie folded her arms. "She's pregnant."

"I know."

"Does that bother you?"

"No."

"You ready for kids? For a family? I'm not letting this go."

"Well," he snorted. "Sucks for you."

She narrowed her eyes to slits; that seriously pissed look her daughter had inherited. "When did you grow a set?"

_Ask your kid, _he thought with an internal sneer. But he faced off from her, undeterred. Of all the people Maggie should have been giving shit at the moment, he was at the bottom of the list. He'd done right by Ava thus far and he intended to continue doing so. "I know you're her mother," he said carefully ", but you're not _my_ mother."

Maggie leaned back a fraction in the chair, head tipping so she could literally look down her nose at him. It wasn't arrogant though, more appraising than anything. She made a clucking, thoughtful sound inside her cheek. "So," she said after a moment. "What's your next move, _Son_?"

**-O-**

The sounds were quiet, but they were enough to wake Ava. She lay on her side, facing the bathroom, ensconced in darkness, but she registered the familiar run of a zipper and the thump of boots on the carpet. Someone was undressing. And when the bed dipped behind her and the smell of pot smoke and motor oil filled her nostrils, she didn't misunderstand who it was. She knew the heavy arm that draped across her middle was Juice's, that it was his chest she was pulled back against, his face settling in the hair at the nape of her neck.

"I'm sorry," he said and his voice was genuine. "After last night I hadn't had a chance to talk to Sarah, but I was going to."

"You broke up with her?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He sighed and his breath ruffled through her hair, raised goosebumps on the back of her neck. "She didn't need me…and I didn't need her."

The pain of grief was sharp, as much so as the blade she'd tried to take to her wrist earlier, but the pain wasn't the only thing she felt. She felt his arm, and his body behind her. Just as she had realized the night before, she now knew the grief didn't have to be alone; it could share the space inside her with comfort and pleasure too.

"You scared your mom," he said quietly. "And me."

Ava sighed, chest aching. "I know."

His arm tightened and Ava twisted within its hold as tears threatened…again…rolling so she faced him, hands flat on his bare chest. It was hard to see, but clear moonlight let her find his wide eyes. "I need help," she admitted. "I just…need help."

"Yeah you do," he kissed her forehead. "And I'm here."

**TBC**


	9. Monolithic

**AN: **Big thank you, as always, to my girl Angie for helping me power through writer's block. And hunting down pics for me online. She's been a huge help. Much, much love to her for supporting my craziness!

The flashback here is taken from chapter 32 of "Fearless". And please keep in mind that if Ava seems unstable…yeah…she's supposed to be.

…

**9. Monolithic**

"Cute," Gemma said as she surveyed the front of the little house.

Maggie sighed as she climbed out of the passenger seat of her cousin's Escalade and joined her assessment of the mildewed siding and unkempt lawn. "Juice isn't big on yard maintenance. I'll get the Prospect to come out."

The Queen nodded, distracted. Maggie knew she was studying the truck and two bikes under the carport, the accumulated stack of papers on the front walk, the Hefty bags overflowing the county-supplied trash can. "How do we even get in? Jesus."

"Back door," Maggie walked up under the carport, leading the way, having to turn sideways to slip between the Dynas. The door was unlocked and Juice was standing in front of the open fridge in his boxers, drinking chocolate milk straight out of the bottle. "Morning," she offered a half-hearted smile.

He nodded as he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he put the milk back, he turned, and she noticed the angry, red scratches across his shoulders and along his ribs. The little bruises along his collar bone that she guessed hadn't been there the night before.

"Oh, man," Gemma said as she came in behind her. Her heels were loud on the half-finished linoleum-to-tile redo of the kitchen floor. She crossed to the table and then turned, arms folded. "You weren't kiddin' when you said the place was a mess."

"Yeah," Maggie sighed. "They'd started remodeling when…" she trailed off and her cousin nodded, lips pursed. She glanced over and saw Juice looking between the two of them, rubbing his chin in an unconscious gesture. "Where is she?"

"Shower."

"Did she get any sleep?"

He nodded. "A few hours."

He looked tired, uncharacteristic dark circles under his eyes. "What about you?"

"I'm okay."

But that was the problem – he wasn't. Happy could have walked over hot coals for Ava and been okay. If it had concerned her, he was there, one hundred percent, like the postal service. _Rain, sleet, snow _and all that shit. But Juice, she knew, wasn't hard enough to be okay at the moment. She nodded though, not mean enough to question him. "She's got an appointment. I don't care if it takes both of us holding her down, we're getting her an exam."

"Yeah, I think she'll go. We talked about it last night."

"You talked about it?" Gemma asked, disbelieving.

They were making him uncomfortable, Maggie could tell. He might have been able to stand up to her the night before, but the two of them together were backing him into the proverbial corner. He folded his arms and then rubbed at his jaw again; his standard nervous tic. "Yeah," he said, ducking his head and staring at the discolored linoleum at his feet. "Long talk."

Maggie's heart thumped hard for several beats, a sad smile tugging at her lips. Ava was talking. And even if she wanted to be the one she was talking to, she'd take progress in any form. Juice didn't have the killer instinct that Ava had always relied upon for strength and support, but he had the heart to deal with her grief. And right now, that was more important than his knife-wielding abilities.

"I'll go get her," he said, pushing away from the counter.

Maggie tracked his departure with her eyes and noticed her cousin doing the same. "Damn, did you raise a daughter or a mountain lion?" Gemma asked of the marks on his skin once he was gone. She tapped her nails against the back of a chair and raised her brows. "They're already fucking?"

"Apparently," Maggie sighed.

"It's too fast," she shook her head. "Maybe not for some, but for Ava? Too fast. First speed bump's gonna throw her through the windshield."

Another sigh escaped Maggie. "I'm glad he's being supportive, but the idiot's gonna get himself stuck."

Gemma nodded. "Not even wearin' his goddamn seatbelt."

**-O-**

Today when he eased open the bathroom door and slipped inside, he didn't find Ava with her hands braced on the wall, but washing her hair. Better. Normal. And when he noticed her pose – feet together, back arched as she lathered her dark locks – it didn't feel wrong or creepy that he paused a moment and admired.

Juice had a mission though, this time, and he snapped out of it, sliding the glass door open a few inches to catch her attention. The steam from the hot water blasted him, warm and inviting, making him want to step in with her, but she couldn't be ready for that yet. Ava cracked one eye, rivulets of shampoo running too close to the other.

"Your mom's here," he explained above the pounding jets. "Says you have a doctor's appointment." She didn't acknowledge the statement. "You need to go, okay?"

Slowly, she nodded, and then resumed her task, presenting her back to him as she ducked under the shower head. Juice watched the watery shampoo run across the ink at the small of her back for a moment, and then went to get dressed.

**-O-**

Maggie didn't mind waiting, but the minute hand was creeping across the rooster themed clock on the kitchen wall and it was going to take a good ten minutes to find a parking place at St. Thomas this time of morning. She tapped the toe of her boot under the table until Gemma gave her an amused look.

"You anxious, Grandma?"

"You bet your ass," Maggie took another sip of coffee. "I'm hoping this will help shake her loose a little. She won't ever stop grieving, but she's _gotta_ see how important the baby is going to be."

The creak of the floorboards in the hall signaled an arrival and Gemma closed the magazine she'd been flipping through. Maggie stood and pushed her chair in, jittery. She hadn't been able to sleep, had tossed and turned worrying about Ava after yesterday's little stunt. Today she'd get to see her grandchild, a fuzzy blur up on the monitor, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So instead she just waited, smiling when Ava finally stepped into the kitchen.

She was, as always since the funeral, in tight jeans, boots, one of Hap's t-shirts and her leather jacket. Juice followed closely, dressed for work, and a hand on her shoulder as if he'd steered her down the hall.

"Hey, sweetheart," Gemma's voice had that rare, cooing sound to it she normally reserved for Abel and Johnny.

"Hi, baby," Maggie bit back a sigh as she noticed the listless way her daughter glanced around the room. Her fingers itched to tuck her hair behind her ears like when she was just a little girl. Wanted to kiss the top of her head. Happy had been so good about the little things; so attuned to her comfort, knew when to touch, when to hug, when to tell her it was okay. She'd grown up quickly in a lot of ways, but was so sheltered in others and Hap knew that, but Juice didn't. Juice didn't know that she needed an arm around her shoulders and to have her hair raked through with someone's fingers. Maggie was both glad that he was there, looking down at her, concerned, but wanted to shove him out of the way and take care of her daughter herself. It was too easy – Ava had taken him back into her good graces too quickly after yesterday. She'd expected to find him zonked on the couch, and instead he was a clawed, sexed-up mess who Ava was now entirely too focused upon. Juice being "in" was a little too "in" for Maggie's liking all of a sudden. Pleased twenty minutes before, now she was concerned.

"Hey," Ava said, giving each of them a look in turn. She crossed her arms, not defiant, but holding herself. "So, doctor, huh?"

"Gotta get you checked out," Gemma said and Maggie was glad for her cousin's take-charge approach. She was too busy wishing herself around the table and hugging her girl. The Queen smirked. "Make sure Junior's doin' okay."

Ava nodded; no tears, no quivering lip at the connection between "Junior" and his unmentioned father. Or its. It was hard to imagine Hap _not _siring a boy. For Ava's sake, she hoped the assumption was true.

"You guys go ahead," Juice said, leaning around Ava to grab his cut off the back of a chair. "I'll catch up."

A warning bell went off in Maggie's head as she watched him shrug into his cut. Something about the familiarity of it all was off-putting. "Catch up where?" she asked and drew Ava's real attention for the first time.

"I'm coming," he said, not smiling, but looking expectant. _Where else would I be going? _his wide eyes asked. "I called Clay and said I'd be late at T-M. It's all good."

"No," Maggie said before she could catch herself. "You're not coming."

It was silent a beat, everyone looking toward her. The fridge hummed loudly. Ava was the one who finally spoke.

"He wants to come," she said, but her eyes gave her away. _Ava_ wanted him to come. Ava thought she _needed _him to come. And this was what Maggie had been struggling with the day before and again this morning; that itchy sense that something was wrong. Because something was wrong. Like a recovering alcoholic turning to cigarettes, a star athlete to steroids, Ava was failing and needed a little hit of something to take the edge off. The whole thing was happening too fast. Juice had gone from the helpful friend to the boy toy overnight. Ava was like a little nocturnal creature starved for blood, her vampire fangs already sunk into his flesh. It wasn't healthy for either of them and while Maggie had been willing to let Hap take her daughter, she wasn't passing her over to Juice, not when the idiot had no idea he was he was dealing with. Sitting in the exam room, holding her hand while the doctor showed them the baby was the last place Juice needed to be. It would make the web between them stickier. Neither of them were thinking anymore; just feeling. Love born out of grief had a way of never moving beyond that. They'd both be stuck, bound up together in past misery and drowning everything in sex and tears. She didn't trust Juice's strength; his ability to tow the two of them out of the mire.

Maggie knew first hand how dangerous that_ feeling_ shit was. And if she was honest with herself, she didn't want a third party horning in on her grandbaby's big first picture day. This needed to be just them, the girls, blood related.

"I think," she forced some patience into her voice ", that it would be better for everyone if you caught up with Juice later and just let Gemma and me take you to the doctor."

Ava – wherever the real Ava Morales was – this wasn't her. The girl who'd cried in Maggie's arms the day before had vacated the premises, leaving behind whoever this was who stepped back until she collided softly with her new lover, a hand finding the front of his work shirt and latching on. "No," she met her mother's stare with a quiet challenge. "He's coming."

She couldn't acquiesce. She should have, but she was too emotional. "Ava, come on. Juice needs to go to work." She shouldn't have left her with him the night before. What kind of mother was she? What the hell was wrong with her? She should have stayed. Then she wouldn't be standing here now, so close but so far away and all that bullshit, Juice staring at Ava and rubbing her arm – too invested to be productive – Ava too blind to anything besides her need to have a human body for comfort.

"He's coming and -,"

"No he's not!"

Juice's head snapped up at the harsh tone. He frowned and slid an arm around the girl's waist. She was shaking now and covered his hand with her own, getting too close, blurring those lines some more.

"Mags," Gemma came over and rested a hand on her shoulder. She leaned in close so she could whisper. "I ain't tellin' you how to do your mothering, but she's already _suicidal. _Let him come. If he keeps her calm, he should be there."

Maggie exhaled in a defeated rush. Gemma was right, of course she was. She hadn't become the Queen because she was stupid. There was a jumbled assortment of jealousy, grief, and longing inside her now and Maggie had let it get the best of her. Fuck Juice, right? If he got his heart broken, so be it. This was about Ava, and if he kept Ava calm, then by God, let him do his job.

She let her shoulders sag and Gemma nodded at her. _That's right. _She opened her mouth to apologize, to confess to being a temperamental bitch and ask Juice to go, but Ava beat her to it.

"I don't want you to come, Mom," she stated calmly. "Not if you're going to be this way."

**-O-**

"Ava," the nurse with the cartoon cats on her scrub top got settled on the exam room's stool ", I'm gonna need to collect some history from you, okay? It's been awhile since you've been in." She frowned as she scanned the charts. Ava hadn't been in for her annual in at least two years – Tara had been writing her birth control prescription.

Ava nodded from her perch on the paper-covered table, her eyes again seeking out her sole source of comfort at the moment. Gemma was leaned back against the far wall under a laminated Nuvaring poster, out of place against the pastel paint in her all black and knee-length brown suede duster. But Ava didn't want her, instead turning her head so she could see Juice who stood at the end of the exam table, leaning forward, elbows resting on the paper beside her. He twitched her a half smile. He was uncomfortable as hell, but he was here.

The nurse asked the basics; birth control, last regular menstrual cycle, known allergies, but then she got to the one Ava had been dreading. She looked up, pen poised over the chart, expectant smile on her face. "This is your first pregnancy?"

It had been three years, but the memories came flooding back, testing the hold of her emotional stitches. The dark, quiet night of stroking hands and shivering gasps was doing its best to hold that hole inside her together, but she could remember the night Hap had found her with a date. His apologies after. The fluorescent tube lights burning her eyes as she stared at the ceiling and learned that the tiny seed planted within her was gone. The tightness in her chest returned, stitches straining…

"No," she said softly, inhaling. "I miscarried about three years ago. I was only a couple weeks along."

"Okay." The nurse jotted down the note unfazed. But Gemma's heels rapped the tile as she changed positions. Ava didn't look at her, just stared down at the yellow flowers on her hospital gown. The paper crackled and then Juice's hand was on her knee as he leaned all the way over the table. He pulled her hand into his and squeezed. When she met his gaze, his eyes were big, brows tilted, sad for her. It was one of those times when he proved that he wasn't _too _retarded; he didn't say anything, just squeezed.

The nurse finished up with the chart and then started tearing into the little cellophane packages she'd brought with her. Gloves were snapped on. "Time for a little poke," she said in a light, sing-song voice that was meant to soothe. Ava's sadness soured as she watched her prep the needle and vial she'd use to take a blood sample. When she came over with the alcohol swab, she smiled. "You can sit up here with her if you want."

Ava was confused by the comment until Juice let go of her hand. And then she was panicked. _No! _she thought, grappling to regain contact with the warm, rough hand whose rings had left impressions in her skin. Her life as of late had been the aftermath of the _Indianapolis_: the ship was sunk and she was bobbing alone in the water as the sharks closed in. But Juice was her lifeboat, keeping her afloat. He couldn't let go. He had to hold on to her.

And just as quickly her worries were doused when she realized that he was walking around the table and then hopping up beside her, arm going around her waist. "I'm not leaving," he said as if he knew how frightened she'd been.

The nurse was still smiling, but it wasn't genuine any more. Ava knew she looked anything but the happy, expectant mother, but was powerless to change it. At least when Juice was touching her, she wasn't a wrecked heap on the floor. And if only this lady knew what that meant and how absolutely terrifying it was to be here, acknowledging her fatherless child.

"Okay, all done," the nurse said as she snapped the elastic band off Ava's arm. She stared down at the cotton ball she'd been asked to hold to the tiny puncture along the inside of her elbow with a numb detachment. She normally hated having blood drawn, but today, she hadn't even been aware of the process. Had they actually put that band there in the first place? Stuck her with a needle? The nurse rummaged in the drawer under the exam room sink and came out with a Band-Aid. She hummed to herself as she stripped off the packaging and came toward her again.

"Nothing to worry about," the nurse assured as she removed the cotton ball and pressed the bright purple bandage over the needle mark. Happy had always loved her in purple… "Just standard op since you haven't been in yet. I'm sure everything's fine." Another smile that Ava didn't return.

"Thanks," Gemma offered as the nurse collected Ava's chart and headed for the door.

She nodded. "Doctor will be right in."

Ava thought it would be a relief when the nurse was gone, but it wasn't. Because now, even though it was blissfully peaceful and she didn't have to answer anymore questions about her _history_, Gemma had her chin dipped and was giving her one of those wide-eyed, serious mother looks. Filling in for Maggie, she supposed.

"I didn't know you'd miscarried before," the older cousin said after a moment. "What happened?"

Ava shrugged. "Dunno. Just one of those things I guess."

"What did…Hap think?"

"I think he was sad, but for me, not for himself." Juice's arm tightened around her and he patted the outside of her thigh. Comforting. Supportive. Ava had no idea how he was doing this, being so okay with her pregnancy and now this revelation of a miscarriage. It didn't seem possible that he was still sitting her, hugging her to him, when he should have been running for all he was worth. He was a special, special guy, she was realizing. "He said once," she fiddled with her bandage ", that he thought of me as his kid a little bit. He didn't want kids. He would have tried, for me, but it wasn't what he wanted."

"They all say that," Gemma said. "But when the little thing comes out, they all melt. All of them, baby."

"Guess we'll never know, huh?"

"Why'd you get so upset with your mom?" she changed subjects boldly.

On a normal day, her brain worked like a typewriter; sentences coming word-by-word, thinking in narrative form. It was what made writing so enjoyable for her. But today, the answer to Gemma's question came as a splatter of images across her mental projection screen. She shook her head.

Gemma sighed.

**-O-**

"Shit!"

"Don't say it like that," Maggie said, resuming her pacing in front of the open garage bay.

"But she's…._shit_!" Chibs repeated. He sat down on the oil drum at his feet, pushing his hair off his face. "And I'm just findin' out now?"

"She only told me yesterday, and that was because she was pissed at Juice." Her lip curled as his name left her lips. "Goddamn Juice. He apologizes and suddenly he trumps her mother?"

Chibs had always found his wife's spunk cute. It was what had piqued his interest when she was twenty-two and had led him to put the ring on her finger that now flashed as she waved her arms around hysterically. Sometimes, though, that spunk got twisted into something slightly…insane. He loved it about her even when he hated actually dealing with it. The fact that she'd passed it down to their daughter made it all the more difficult to bear sometimes.

When Maggie had come screeching into the lot twenty minutes before, he'd been set to hear her out over whatever new way Ava's grief had pulled at her heartstrings. He'd tried, maybe not as hard as he should have. Okay, definitely not as hard as he should have. But he didn't even begin to know how to comfort his daughter. He'd thought watching Jax go through Abel's abduction had been difficult. But it didn't come close to bearing witness to his girl's universal meltdown. Even when he'd wanted to deny it, he'd always known that her love for Happy was intense, unnatural, and more all-encompassing than was heard of within the MC life. It had been unconditional on both their parts. And seeing her go through that kind of grief had twisted sharp, nasty knives in his gut. There was no condolence, no kind word available that could dull her pain. Nothing to do for her. She'd lashed out, had shrieked at him until he'd walked away. _You always hated me with him _she'd cried. _You don't care. _If he could, he would go back to that stairwell and put himself in the line of fire; send himself to the grave to spare his precious daughter's happiness.

So he stayed away, was giving her space, and praying that each time Maggie came to him in tears, it wasn't to tell him that Ava had strung herself up over the bathtub. _This_, though, had been most unexpected.

"Fuck," he muttered with a sigh, calming some. "This is gonna make it harder for her." He scowled as a particular memory came to mind. "That fucker," he growled ", he told me he didn't want kids. Now he's gone and knocked her up and died on her!"

"Chibs!" Maggie exclaimed. She narrowed her eyes to slits, but he could see her face starting to crumple, knew it was only a matter of moments before the tears began. "Do you think he did this on purpose? He didn't even know. It was an accident. And you can piss on his memory all you want, but he _loved _her and you aren't gonna say shit to her about having his baby being a bad thing."

She always tried to tell him what to do. Always. "Why would I tell her that?" he snapped. "You know it's my grandchild too," his voice caught and it surprised him, but this was all a little much to digest at once. His daughter was newly widowed, and pregnant to boot. She would be her mother all over again; single mom-ing it and leaning on the club for support.

He shook his head. "She's not strong enough for this, luv, and you know it."

"That's why she needs me to help her!" She threw up her arms and he saw the glimmer of wetness in her eyes. "Who the fuck is Juice to be there now? He can't mow the goddamn grass, but he gets to…to see…my grandchild before I do?"

Chibs stood when she started crying in big, ragged gulps. Ava was hurting so badly that she couldn't see how much her grief affected those around her. "C'mere," he pulled his wife into a firm embrace. "I'm sorry, darlin'. She doesn't mean to shut you out."

"Then why is she? I don't know what to do anymore, baby. I'm trying so hard."

"Aye. I know you are."

"I should be so happy that Juice is stepping up…but I hate him right now!"

"Oh, don't blame Juicy-boy," he sighed against the top of her head. "He can give her somethin' you can't. It'll pass though. And then she'll need her mum."

**-O-**

The gel was cool and slippery on her stomach; the ultrasound probe digging hard into her skin, squeezing her organs, making her uncomfortable. That line about it not hurting was bullshit. It was nothing like the firm, consoling touch of Juice's hand against her own, her fingers laced through his darker, thicker ones. Gemma has stepped out and it was just the two of them with the doctor, everywhere his skin touched hers feeling solid and grounded. On the monitor beside her, all she saw was a lot of grainy, swirling black and white whirls of static. It was nothing. Just…nothing.

"Can you see it?" Juice asked.

Ava pulled her eyes away from the monitor – she couldn't see anything anyway – and studied his face. He stood over her, leaning forward, squinting and making that super concentrated face at the ultrasound images flashing across the tiny computer screen. He had been great with the doctor; all hand shakes and protective arms around her shoulders as the procedure had been explained. He had been amazing this whole time. She wanted to go home and climb back into bed with him, spend the rest of the day between the sheets, making this morning of old memories and pokes and prods go away.

"The fetus will still be fairly small at this point," Dr. Lowry said. "It won't look like a baby yet."

Juice nodded; absorbing, learning. "Will you be able to tell if it's a boy or a girl?"

"Nope. Not for a few more weeks."

"Oh." Juice frowned and Ava felt his fingers tighten around hers. "Will you know if everything's okay? Like, if it's healthy and all that?"

The probe stilled on her belly and the doc gave him a curious look. "Specifics are hard to determine at this point. Things like abnormalities can't be detected until the baby is more developed."

Juice was still frowning. "I'm just wondering…you know…I wanna make sure it's okay because…um…we've been," he glanced down at Ava and she realized, with a start, what he was about to ask. "Well…_fucking_," oh, Juice ", and I wanna make sure it didn't hurt the baby. Or, um, that it won't keep hurting it, because -,"

Dr. Lowry held up a hand, thankfully ending the biker's misery. "Sex during pregnancy is fine," he assured, seemingly unaffected by the way the question had been posed. "You want to be careful," he looked between them both ", but it's fine to maintain a sex life."

"Good!" Juice's grin was huge and relieved. "I was worried that maybe I'd…you know…"

"I know," the doc said with a touch of good humored sarcasm. Ava figured he got that question quite a lot from new fathers.

_New fathers_. Had she really just thought that?

She sighed and laid her head back against the cheap pillow on the table.

Juice's face appeared over hers instantly. "You okay?"

She offered a thin smile as the ultrasound wand started moving again. "Yeah."

"Hold on a minute here," Dr. Lowry said as he passed the wand over her again. He dug in a little harder. "There!" he said, smiling. "That's your baby."

"Where?" Ava asked without excitement. She propped up on her elbows and all she saw was more damn static. And it wasn't like she was showing. If she hadn't been nauseous and horny, she wouldn't know she was pregnant.

"Right," he tapped the screen ", here."

Ava sat up a little bit more, causing the probe to really push into her stomach. Juice eased an arm behind her shoulders for support, he really was fabulous, and she thought she saw something, just a little bitty bit of… "Is it -,"

"The little thing that looks like a peanut."

And there it was.

Time stopped. Her heart stalled. Her breath caught. And Ava was alone, in a vacuum, with the tiny white peanut-shaped blip on the ultrasound monitor. Her Baby. Hap's baby. _Their _baby.

Sam.

Her Sam.

"_You ain't ever called me that," he said. He folded his arms and braced a shoulder against the jamb, not concerned that both of them were naked. _

_Ava shook her head. She really didn't want to have to tell him. _

_Through the mirror, she caught his tired scowl. "Who the hell's Sam?"_

_Was he kidding? After what had happened just hours earlier, after she'd no doubt awakened the entire clubhouse with her screaming, and he thought Sam was some other dude? _

_Ava whirled around to face him. "Your son," she bit out, tears starting up again. "Samuel Morales Junior."_

"_Is…" he frowned. "You mean the…"_

"_Yes. I had a dream about the baby, okay? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. It just happened and he was so little and I don't know how, but his name was Sam, I just knew that. Like I'd named him after you…"_

She inhaled sharply, the pain of the memory sharp and insistent. Oh, God…Sam. Her little Sammy. She really had almost killed him, hadn't she? Oh, no…oh, God no…what kind of monster was she?

The doctor was all smiles, pointer finger still on the screen. He nodded at her. "There you go, guys. Welcome to parenthood." He reached an arm across Ava, hand outstretched. "Congrats, Dad."

Juice's smile faltered. "Oh…"

"He's not the father," Ava corrected. "That's Hap's baby. That's Sam."

Both men were looking at her, but she didn't care. She hoped Juice wasn't offended, because he'd been absolutely amazing, and she didn't want to insult him. He knew the facts, he shouldn't mind too much. And Dr. Lowry seemed shocked, but he was just the doctor. He had no bearing on the situation. And besides, how could she let their looks get to her when she could see her baby? Hap's baby. Their baby together. Their Sam.

Dr. Lowry cleared his throat. "You know, Ava, that the sex hasn't been determined yet."

"Doesn't matter," she said, grinning hugely like a crazy person. Well…maybe she was, just a little bit. "That's my _Sam_."

Sam. Her Sam. Wow. Her precious Sam.

"So, Doc," Juice cleared his throat. "What should she be eating? I wanna make sure she's as healthy as possible…"

Bless Juice and his big, giant Ritalin dependent heart; he was taking such good care of her. She let his voice fade to the background, let him handle all the technical stuff she didn't care about, and stared at the image on the monitor.

Sam.

**TBC**


	10. Here

**10. Here**

Ava cradled the ultrasound picture by its edges with her fingertips, not daring to smudge the little black and white peanut that was "Sam", apparently. Juice supposed the kid was just lucky its old man had been named something slightly generic and not "Fred" or "Bruce". Because Ava was going to name it Sam no matter what, and she was convinced, as she'd said in her trance-like, awe-struck calm, that it would be a little boy because she'd seen it in a dream. Okaaaay.

She was dressed again, snuggled up under the arm he had draped across her shoulders, and stared at the image of the fetus as they made their way down the hall of the St. Thomas female health ward. His head felt overloaded with information and he was trying to find empty mental compartments into which to slot all the nutritional, physical, emotional well-being stuff that he needed to know about Ava. It was strange, because on one hand, he was terrified out of his mind. Baby? How the hell had he acquired a chick and a baby in such a short amount of time? But on the other hand it was Ava, and she'd clutched his fingers so hard, had shot furtive, frightened glances at him the whole time. He probably should be abandoning ship at this point, but, he didn't really want to do that. No, seeing the little peanut-shaped baby on the monitor had been strangely gratifying. He was doing something good; he was carrying out his brother's dying wish, was taking care of a woman he…liked…a whole fucking lot… and her unborn child.

Gemma had never returned to the room and he realized why as they entered the main reception area. Seated amongst all the pregnant ladies flipping through baby magazines, the Queen and her daughter-in-law were sitting with their crossed knees pointing toward one another, conversing about something that made them both appear serious.

"Everything alright?" Gemma asked as they both stopped speaking in a very obvious, _we were just talking about your asses _way.

"Yeah," Juice said, ignoring the look she shot him. He glanced down at Ava, giving her a light shake. "You wanna show her?"

Ava's head came up and for a moment, it appeared like she didn't know where she was or how she'd gotten here. But then she smiled – for possibly the first time since the funeral – and turned the photo so the other women could see. "Sam," was the only explanation she provided, beaming.

Tara quirked an eyebrow. "Um, Ava, the sex probably -,"

Juice shook his head and she halted, giving a slight nod of recognition.

"Lemme see," Gemma stood and leaned closer to the image. "Damn, don't have my glasses…oh, wow, baby." She smiled at Ava, the look one of crafted, friendly persuasion. "You feel like a mom yet?"

She scrunched up her nose. "I dunno. It's all a little overwhelming. I'm not sure what being a mom feels like."

Gemma straightened, hands clasped together in front of her on the handle of her purse. "It feels like you love the shit out of that little kidney bean."

Her smile wasn't as sure, but it was still there. "Yeah," Ava nodded, glancing back at the photo. "I do."

_Happy should be here _Juice thought, not for the first time. No matter how many times he would have bitched and moaned about his impending fatherhood, had Hap been alive, he would have been in the chair, fingers intertwined with hers, petting her hair while he glared at the doctor and demanded to be told that his child was perfectly healthy. He would have been so proud of his girl, and likewise horrified at all the possible things that could go wrong. It should have been Hap to see the glow on her face when the monitor had picked up the baby for the first time. And Ava should have had him, should have been able to share this with him because she loved him more than was healthy and wanted to cuddle up with him at night, not Juice, as she fretted over the baby.

Juice squeezed her tight to his side for a moment. "Can you take her home?" he asked Gemma. "I need to get to the shop."

"Sure." She nodded and then gave him a visual sweep that promised an uncomfortable conversation in his near future. "Come on, sweetheart."

Ava resisted, turning to look up at him, the hand that didn't hold her ultrasound going to his chest. She was very physical, he was realizing, when things moved beyond friendship. Her brows crinkled and her smile faded. She didn't want to be separated.

It was an expression of such loneliness and desperation; nothing like the false pout and eyelash flutter of someone who was toying with him – because he'd seen plenty of that – but a true anxiety on her part. Before he could think about it, he rested a hand alongside her head, thumb kicking over her cheek. She had that creamy, pore-less skin that spoke of her Scottish blood. He stroked her a moment and thought she leaned into the move. Damn, she was into this all, in such a close, couldn't breathe unless she was being touched way…and if he admitted it, so was he a little bit.

"I'll see you later, okay?"

She frowned, but nodded.

"I'll bring dinner home."

_Home. _She stretched up and kissed him. "Thank you," she whispered as she pulled back.

His hand had followed her movements, he was still holding her, and skipped his thumb down to the corner of her mouth, feeling a smile tugging at his own. She really was beautiful. "Of course." He saw her eyelids flag, lowering to half-mast a moment, her sadness and gratitude morphing into something else. If he leaned a little closer…

Tara coughed loudly and he stepped back, dropping his hand.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "I'll call ya later, babe."

**-O-**

This was decidedly not home. Gemma – the big liar – had taken her to the grocery store. Six weeks wasn't really that long, but everything felt alien to Ava. The colors and sounds and crowds of the market were pushing at the fragile happy place she'd found in her head ever since seeing Sam up on the screen. For the fifteenth time since coming through the automatic door, she reached into the pocket of her jacket and traced the edges of the ultrasound photo with the tips of her fingers. The picture and the remembered feeling of Juice's touch on her face kept her grounded as she followed her cousin through the store.

Gemma pushed a cart, plucking things off the shelf and explaining their necessity as she went. She paused, back in the refrigerated vegetable section, and pulled what looked like a giant stalk of leafy celery off a shelf. She turned and waved the dripping whatever-it-was at Ava. "Romaine," she explained. "Bagged salad sucks. You run the knife through this, add some meat and cheese, you gotta good salad."

"I don't eat much salad," Ava protested.

She made a displeased clucking sound inside her cheek. "You should. You can't grow that baby on Pop-Tarts and soda."

"But I like Pop-Tarts."

"Do you eat anything besides junk? What did you make Hap for dinner?"

His name wrapped around her, like a cat weaving between its owners ankles; warm and unexpected. But reality dashed the comfort quickly. "We had a lot of those frozen pasta meals. Stouffer's and whatnot."

Gemma frowned. "No. You need to start eating better. I don't know how you stay so skinny, but you need to be eating healthy stuff for the kid. So," she dropped the head of romaine into a clear produce bag and twisted it off. "Time to think about someone besides yourself."

Ava glared dagger's at her back as she shoved off with the cart again, going to the display of bright red tomatoes. "I _do _think about other people," she said.

"Hmm?" Gemma was distracted as she picked out vegetables. "Like who, baby?"

"Hap."

A corner of Gemma's mouth quirked, but she said nothing.

"And Mom," Ava went on, frustration building to anger. "And Juice."

"Yeah?"

"And you. Tara. Jax. Everybody. I think about everybody."

Gemma turned, a cucumber in her hand, and smiled in satisfaction. "Exactly. Now, don't you think all those people are thinking about _you_?"

"I…dunno."

"Of course they are. Ava, you've been scaring the ever loving shit out of all of us. What you did yesterday? That's unacceptable. Shit happens, Old Men die, trust me, I wrote the book on that, sweetheart. But we do not fall apart. You don't stop living because he did." She put the cucumber back and took a step closer, face contorting with the effort of putting all the meaning she intended into her words. "You have your parents, your cousins," she snorted ", apparently another brownie to keep you company at night." She shook her head. "And you've got your baby. Don't lose sight of that. Lots of people love you, little girl. So you're gonna eat right, and get right."

No one else could turn a loving speech into a direct order. But it was startling to hear, a stronger reinforcement of what Maggie had told her the day before. She loved her family…did they love her that much too? That it would be a grievous injury to them if something happened to her? Those weren't questions that mattered though, because she had Sam to consider now, and if that involved giving up Pop-Tarts, she supposed she could do that.

She nodded. "Yeah. Yes, ma'am. Okay."

"Good." Gemma returned to her selections. "We'll go home and put this stuff away. Then you're gonna set things right with your mom."

**-O-**

"Ow!"

Again, Juice's hand slipped on the wrench he was working, and again, his knuckles collided against the wheel cover he was trying to remove. His damn hands were clammy or something; he was having trouble holding onto things.

He hadn't had any trouble earlier, he remembered with a frown, when he'd been holding Ava's hand and comforting her. He'd been fine then. When he was leaving the hospital too. It wasn't until he'd been hanging his cut in his locker and had come across a box of condoms that his palms had started to feel damp. Come to think of it, he was a little hot all over. A little flushed maybe. Shit, hopefully he hadn't caught some kind of twenty-four hour virus at the hospital. Damn germ breeding grounds. Ava wouldn't need to be exposed to that kind of shit, not with her being pregnant.

He was lightheaded all of a sudden and set the wrench on top of the tire he'd been trying to remove before sitting down hard on the stool he'd rolled in earlier. Now, his hands weren't just sweaty, but were shaking too. He curled them over his knees in an attempt to deny the movement. But it was too late to pretend – he was freaking out. Big time.

Clay found him like that ten minutes later. "Hey."

Juice snapped to attention, getting to his feet at the sharp call. "Oh, hey. Yeah, I was just…" he gestured lamely toward the car, hoping his hands weren't still shaking so much as to be noticeable.

Clay frowned from behind his shades. He had his clipboard in hand, doing a routine sweep of the garage to ensure everyone was on task; Jax not being too keen on the whole leadership-in-the-shop scene. "What's the problem?"

"No problem," he shook his head. "Just…needed a sec…to…um…" he scratched at his jaw. _Shit. That was convincing._

Clay glanced across the lot, then back again, tilting his head and lowering his voice a notch. "You wouldn't happen to be, I dunno, strung out or anything, over…shit…let's say, your recent _inheritance_, would ya?"

He frowned, started to deny, it but let out a huge breath and clasped his hands over his head. "It just kinda hit me," he admitted. He sat back down with a groan. "She's having a _kid_."

"She is?"

"You didn't know that?"

"Nobody tells me shit."

"Oh, well…yeah, she's pregnant. And I'm…I dunno."

Clay sighed like the last thing he wanted to do was hear the latest SAMCRO princess drama, but his boots scuffed over the concrete as he came over. One of his arthritic hands landed on Juice's shoulder. "You know, in theory, it's not a hard gig. You move in, you pay the bills, you get the pussy."

Juice snorted at the ludicrous notion of the statement.

"But," Clay went on. "It ain't easy, is it?"

He shook his head.

"Question is, though, is there anywhere else you wanna be?"

Another negative shake. That was easy to answer. He might have been worrying about Ava, but he wasn't thinking about anyone else. His head was stuck on her channel; all Ava all the time.

"It'll get better. She's crazy, you know - ,"

"Man."

"But it'll get better."

**-O-**

Somehow, though she'd seen it done a hundred times, running the knife through the head of lettuce wasn't leaving her with those neat, curly strips of romaine. She had no skills with _this _kind of knife and had only managed to bruise the tender leaves as she'd hacked at them. She'd given up and was pulling off little hunks of greenery with her fingers and adding them to the bowl when there was a _thump _of a car door outside.

Ava sighed as she set aside the lettuce and picked up the jar of mandarin oranges. This would be Maggie, as promised by Gemma, coming so they could ", talk things out". Ordinarily, it would have been a few tears, a couple of hugs, and then all would have been right again. But not this time. Maggie had tried to push Juice away. Ava felt the anger of the morning stir to life inside her. How could her mother of all people not understand that she needed Juice right now? It wasn't in her control, but was a physical, emotional craving she had no idea how to satisfy except with warm, naked skin, familiar smiles, and the safety of arms around her when she slept.

The back door opened and Ava didn't look up, kept spooning orange slices into her bowl of mangled lettuce.

"Hi, sweetie," Maggie said. The door closed and boots rapped across the floor, but Ava didn't glance her way, intent on keeping her anger in check this time. "Salad?" Maggie came up to the counter. "This has got to be a first."

"It's healthy," her tone was flat and uninviting. "For the baby."

At the mention of her grandchild, Maggie leaned closer, her hand hovered in the air a moment, and she gathered in a deep breath. "That go okay?" Her voice quivered with the effort of not demanding to be told.

Ava nodded as she set aside the mandarin oranges and picked up the re-sealable bag of parmesan cheese.

"Did the doctor say everything was okay? Did you get to see it on the ultrasound?"

_You could have gone if you hadn't been such a bitch! _Ava thought sourly. Finally done with her way-too-large salad, she reached for the fork she'd laid out earlier. Maggie should have just played nice with Ava's poor, sweet human medication, and this wouldn't be happening. She was the baby's grandmother, not its mother, she didn't get to decide what was best for it. What was best for Sam was for her to be content, and the thing that kept her happy was Juice. Well…in a secondary sense. What _really _had made her happy was Happy. Never had there been a more appropriate name for a man than the one who lit up her world.

Happy. Happy should have been here. Juice was wonderful, but she'd squeezed his hand wanting it to be Hap's. Had wanted to see those hard-to-read, intense brown eyes searching for hers to make sure she was okay. Had wanted Hap to share in the magic that was Sam. She…

From out of nowhere, a sob came tearing out of her, feeling like it left her throat red and bloody on its way out. Hap was the only thing that could have made her feel better, even though the baby was doing its damndest to prove that life was worth living. And Maggie, her amazing mother, had been the only one, for so long, to support their pairing. Maggie had seen Hap all those years, had known what was between them and had let it happen.

"I'm sorry, Mom!" she choked out, bracing her hands on the counter as she cried.

An arm came around her. "Hey, hey, it's okay." Maggie hugged her hard. "I know, baby, I know this makes you crazy. We both said shit we didn't mean. _I'm sorry. _I pushed too hard."

Ava managed to get some of her tears under control. "It's just…" she hiccupped ", it's easier when he's here, you know? Like I need somebody to hold onto."

"I know. You hold onto him as tight as you want, okay?" Maggie sniffed at her own tears. "But let's not fight. I know exactly what Hap meant to you, so I don't want us to fall apart now, when we need each other."

Ava nodded and wiped at her eyes. All she ever did was wipe at her damn eyes. "Do you wanna see it?" she asked, anxious to get to a quieter place in her head. "The ultrasound."

"Yes!" Maggie gave her another squeeze and then pulled back. "You have no idea how excited a grandmother I am."

She led her back into the bedroom, around to her side of the unmade bed that smelled like Juice and sex, and not Hap, and perched on the edge of the mattress. On the nightstand, she had a silver framed picture of her and Hap. Taken about two years prior, it was out in front of the clubhouse, Hap ready to head out on a run in his sweatshirt and shades, and Ava was tucked up under his arm, a hand resting on his chest, smiling for all she was worth. She loved that picture; it was one of the few in which Happy had actually flashed a grin of his own. She'd been nineteen then. It had been a good year.

Propped up against the photo was the ultrasound image. Ava lifted it with reverent care and passed it to her mother. Maggie gasped, sinking down onto the bed beside her.

"Oh my God." Her smile wavered. "Wow." One of her hands reached out and Ava clasped it in her own. "So, this is Sam."

**-O-**

By the time Juice clocked out that afternoon, news of Ava's pregnancy had spread like wildfire. As he shoved his laptop in his bag for the ride home, he earned several claps on the back, a good luck wish from Chibs and a look of pure disgust from Tig. He was still freaking a little bit; this was a huge responsibility. Taking care of Hap's Old Lady was a challenge in itself, forget the fact that there was a tiny, peanut-shaped life growing inside her. That would have to eat, be dressed, go to the doc, have toys, get older, eat more. He shook his head, reminding himself of what Clay had told him. _It'll get better. _And it would.

He wasn't sure what to expect from Ava when he got back to the house. He set the takeout bags on the kitchen and table and went in search of her. "Hey, babe?"

"I'm in here."

The call came from the living room and he found her on the sofa, socked feet tucked up under legs, her big art clipboard balanced against her knees. She hadn't drawn since the funeral – or written for that matter – and it eased some of his stress to hear the scratch of a pencil against the canvas she had secured to the black square of plastic.

"What're you working on?" he asked, going to sit beside her. At this angle, he could see the shadowy outline she was filling in with varying depths of lead, shading the line drawing and bringing it to life. He could tell just at a glance, but a look to the photo she'd taped to the edge of the board confirmed it; it was a picture of Hap, a candid head shot of him smoking and staring off into the distance somewhere.

"I've wanted to do this for awhile," she said, smearing a shadow with a fingertip. "The inspiration just struck me."

She stared at the paper with a concentration he hadn't seen in weeks, and he stared at her. Juice took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was odd that he'd spent all afternoon fretting over the big picture of it all, but when he watched her nose twitch as she found something she'd drawn unsatisfactory, as he took note of the rise and fall of her chest under the man's t-shirt she insisted on wearing, all the worry fell away.

"I brought dinner."

She glanced up for the first time, hair slipping over her shoulder. He couldn't get over how different it felt to look at her face now that he'd been with her. "Can we eat in here? Watch TV?"

"Absolutely."

Gemma had obviously taken her shopping. There was a lot of fresh, green food in the fridge. A twelve pack of Bud for him. He grabbed a beer and a water for her, the food, and returned to the living room where Ava had stowed her clipboard beside the couch and was reaching for the remote.

"I'm probably not supposed to eat whatever it is," she said with a sigh. "Gemma's orders."

"Nah, I stopped at Nikki's." He pulled out her paper wrapped sandwich and passed it over. "Turkey on sourdough with avocados and extra mustard, right?"

She smiled, surprised. "Yeah."

He'd hoped for more of a return to normalcy; making fun of whatever awful reality show MTV was playing, but they ate in silence for awhile, Ava channel surfing and not settling on anything. She finally stopped, on the Weather Channel of all things, but when he turned to her, he realized it wasn't because she was interested in a storm from 1987. She was staring at him, the TV flickering blue light across the side of her face.

"Juice?"

He felt his pulse accelerating a tad and wasn't sure why. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

The last, lingering scraps of anxiety melted. This was right. This was where he was supposed to be right now. Where he was needed and wanted. Here.

**TBC**


	11. Can't Get Enough

**11. Can't Get Enough**

Ava had a serious crick in her neck. And there was a really annoying sound that was driving her closer and closer to consciousness. What the hell _was that_? Moving didn't seem like the best of ideas, nor was she sure it was possible. Her arms and legs were lead, something heavy was pressing across her middle, and she was so fucking tired she wasn't sure she could work her eyelids open.

But what was that noise? Really. God, it was annoying. A squeaking of some kind. Shit, had they caught something in one of the sticky traps they'd laid out? Juice had been at war with the rodents for the past three weeks. She'd found him in the kitchen one morning, one of the little buggers caught under a soup pot, gun drawn. Eligible for MIT, and he thought it was a good idea to _shoot _a mouse indoors. Genius he was. The traditional snap traps had been his original preference – Ava had been awakened in the wee hours one morning, not by the trap closing, but by Juice applauding his success. The mice had figured out the snappy traps though, and now they were using the sticky kind.

This sound couldn't be a mouse, though, she realized as it became more and more a part of her awakening mind. Shit, she wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. The noise was too annoying and she was too uncomfortable.

And then, just like nearly every other morning, it came back to her; all of it. Where she was, who she was with, why she was with him, whose arm was pinning her to the bed and whose breath ruffled the hair beside her ear. Whose hip her leg was slung over at an awkward tilt. They had fallen where they'd landed the night before, already half asleep. Satisfaction only led to a desire to be satisfied again, none of it ever reaching the part of her that was insatiable. The iPod docked in its CD/MP3 radio was still spinning the playlist Juice had put on loop before the clothes had been shucked and left on the floor. And the noise that had disturbed her was the squeaking bed sound effect on a rap song she vaguely recalled from several years back.

Untangling herself was hard – physically, not emotionally since she now wanted nothing to do with the bed and what they'd done in it. Tired and sore, she managed to lift his arm and roll away. Juice snorted and she froze, waiting until he'd reflexively grabbed an armful of her side of the covers before easing upright and swinging her feet to the floor. She knew that if she woke him, he'd smile and reach for her, _come back_, and she'd be stuck cuddled up for the next thirty five minutes until the alarm sounded.

Ava stood, and then sat back down again when her left calf cramped up. Fucking dehydrated no doubt. At least she tried to sit back down, she slipped off the edge of the bed and landed hard on the carpet, knocking the wind out of herself in a rush and no doubt bruising her tailbone.

"Shit!" she hissed. Tears formed on impact, only in part because of the pain. She hated herself on mornings like this; loathed her willing descent into this…_relationship_…the sex was turning into.

She pushed herself up off the floor, checked that Juice was still asleep – though he was now snoring like he did before he woke – and made her wobbly, careful way over to the desk and shut off the dirty hip-hop they'd fucked along with. It was cool and goose flesh raced along her skin, making her more aware of her nakedness than she wanted to be. She pulled one of Hap's few flannel shirts out of the closet, buttoned one button in the middle, and rolled the overlong sleeves back as she headed to the bathroom.

In front of the mirror, as had become habit, she lifted the tail of the shirt and turned this way and that, scrutinizing her shape. At eleven weeks along, she wasn't showing, no one could even tell she was pregnant, but amongst the nausea, the fatigue, the sexual cravings, she was convinced she looked somehow fuller on bottom. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was off. Juice had palmed her ass, squeezed, and told her she was still "smokin'" and was going to get "pregnant, not fat", but it hadn't been comforting.

And then there was her ink; that constant, beautiful reminder of Hap. Seeing it now made her throat constrict. She rubbed her palm over her lower belly, almost expecting it to feel different. Beside the two smiley faces on her hip, bruises shaped liked fingers marred her pale skin. "I'm sorry, Sammy," she sighed. "I know this is…rough…but Mama needs it right now."

She heard a loud groan and then the actual bed springs squeaked, and she dropped her shirt tail before Juice came staggering into the bathroom. She saw his half asleep smile through the mirror before his arm came around her waist.

"Hey," he kissed her temple and lingered.

Ava knew what he wanted; the same thing he wanted every morning. It was a struggle, because part of her loved the solid warmth and security, but it still felt like betrayal as she turned her head and met his open-mouth kiss. He was more affectionate than Hap had been. She didn't know if he loved her yet – she hoped he didn't – but it was hard, like always, not to cave to the invitation of his mouth and lean into him, share in the closer-than-skin bond he seemed determined to establish.

_Oh, Juice _she thought to herself with a sad, inward sigh. His hand had migrated to her ass and he'd backed her against the counter. He was really smiling when he pulled back, with his eyes too in that boyish way that didn't hide what he would have been better off keeping to himself. "Did you shower yet?"

He knew she hadn't. This was the invitation, as per routine. As much as she couldn't seem to get enough, it was too much for Ava. "I'm gonna get some coffee," she nodded towards the door. "I'll have it ready for when you leave."

He was disappointed, but nodded and turned away with one last squeeze.

Ava made it around the end of the bed, and then she spotted his cut hanging off the back of her desk chair. She paused, touched the leather, smiling grimly at the irony of the garment. Her blood, her birth, her emotional death, her medication and child were all a product of this cut. It was inescapable for her. Whatever else Juice was, he was a Son; the Son her man had chosen to take care of her. It was that everyday reminder that kept her just sane enough to function, that eased her heart into thinking it was okay to give her body what it wanted.

After all, it really was just for her body. For her sadness. To ease the pain and pass the time; Juice surely didn't care any more than she did.

She went back to the bathroom, where she heard the shower jets pounding, shrugging out of her shirt as she went. She paused a moment in the open doorway, watching him through the fogged glass of the shower door. He was working what she knew was a dollop of her shampoo into his mohawk and across the shaved sides of his scalp. He would shave his head afterward, in front of the mirror at the sink – just like Hap had done – more worried about smooth skin up top than along their jaws. Those tiny, rare similarities between them were more heartbreaking than the differences. So it wasn't her heart that drove her the three steps across the tile and slid the door open.

**-O-**

"Oh, man, this one's from ninety-six," Ava remarked as she dropped the invoice into the wastebasket at her feet. She'd lost her magazine gig, and with nothing else to do, she'd been helping Maggie with some housekeeping at the T-M office. She was sorting through boxes of old files, trashing the unreadable or out of date and making a stack of wholesale contacts that Juice had agreed to convert to digital form.

"Clay is such a pack rat," Maggie said from the desk. "I can't thank you enough, babe. I just don't have time to dig through all that old shit."

Ava glanced up with a frown. "What's with all the 'thank you's?"

Maggie gave her a blank look, but she knew the answer. For the past three weeks, her mother had gone out of her way to be supportive, helpful and cheery. To the point of being annoying again. She was hovering. Just like Juice was clinging. Ava sighed. The only two people in her life who were actually _in _her life at the moment, were suffocating her.

"You coming to the party tonight?" Maggie changed the subject, focus returning to the computer screen.

"I don't know." It was the first time that anyone had propose she attend a post church bash. Guys from Fresno were in town and several Nomads, so it promised to be a big one. Juice had asked at breakfast. He'd been casual, but his eyebrows had done the climb number, letting her know he really wanted her to be there. Which she didn't understand because why would he want her mopey ass around on a fun night?

"You should. It's been awhile since you've been around everyone."

A knock on the open office door spared her a commitment, and when she turned in her chair, she saw Juice, one hand held behind his back. "Gemma's not here, is she?"

"No."

He grinned and pulled a box of Little Debbie Fudge Rounds from behind his back.

"Fudge Rounds!" Ava gasped before she could catch herself. "Really?"

He tossed the box and she caught it easily. "Just don't tell your cousin," he said with a chuckle. "I know you need your chocolate."

Under normal circumstances, Ava wasn't one to make a pig of herself in front of the opposite sex. But now she tore open the end of the box, bypassing the little perforated flap and just ripping the corners off. "I haven't eaten anything but salad and chicken for weeks," she said as she got one of the cellophane wrapped cakes out. "Oh my God, I love you."

It was a delayed reaction, but the food fell out of her hands when she realized what she'd just said. Glancing up, she saw Maggie with a hand at her throat. Juice, framed by late afternoon sunlight, seemed to be glowing. He wasn't really smiling, but there was this overall, surprised and pleased expression on his face, more of his open display of happy contentedness.

_Fuck! _She screamed inside her head. How had she let that happen? Why was a little chocolate worth letting so dreaded a word slip out of her mouth? She'd been so worried, had lain awake and watched him sleep, fretting about the morning that he told her he was in love with her. Because he couldn't be; she wasn't the kind of girl men just fell in love with. She was Happy's girl, and he loved her because he'd practically raised her. She was a sloppy, horny mess and making out when she was sixteen didn't mean that Juice loved her now.

"I love chocolate," she blurted, panicked. "You know, just for clarification."

His mouth twitched to the side. _Oh well. _"Don't eat all of those at once. Your sugar'll go through the roof."

Ava slumped back in her chair when he was gone, snack cakes forgotten. "Oh no," she scraped her hair off her face with both hands. "I can't believe I did that."

"Oh, don't be a drama queen," Maggie scolded gently.

"No, Mom, do you not get what I just did? I said the _love _word! That's gonna change things! What if he thinks I feel that way about him?"

Maggie frowned. "Well, first off, he's not an idiot. And second, don't you love him a little bit anyway?"

"As a friend!"

"A friend you fuck? And live with?"

"Mom," she sighed. "I need him, but I don't love him like that. It can't go there. It just…can't."

Her mother looked like she wanted to say more, but she just shook her head. "Whatever."

"No, not whatever."

"Ava," Maggie pegged her with a glare. "Where do you think this thing is going with him? That one day he'll just pack his shit and smile, head out because you don't _need _him anymore? You two are practically attached at the hip…or somewhere in that general area," she snorted. "That isn't just going to fade away. You're _with _him. This is it; you two. What did you think Happy intended?"

Ava startled at the revelation. "He's supposed to take care of me."

"And that means make you his Old Lady and support your kid when it's born."

"Oh my God." She had been so busy taking comfort from him, letting physical love overflow the empty place inside her that she'd somehow missed the bigger picture here. The reality of her future. Of their future, apparently.

She felt her lunch make a mad dash up her throat and curled over the wastebasket.

**-O-**

Ava was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, combing her hair in her bra and a pair of jeans she kept complaining were too tight. Juice watched her as he sat on the side of the bed and knew that her agitation was in part due to her slip earlier. He'd known she hadn't meant it, not in a real way, but a little thrill had gone through him hearing "I love you" before panic had crossed her face. She was coming back, ever so slowly, even though all she ever seemed to want to do was fuck, and he had to admit that he'd reached the attachment stage. The one in which he'd quit worrying and instead daydreamed, fantasized, longed. He'd dated girls he'd liked before, but never like this, and not in a live-in situation. This was intimate, cozy, warm. Even if her passion wasn't directed at him, and was instead just channeled through their encounters, it felt different than anything he'd ever had before.

"You look fine," he assured her. It was almost seven. He'd come back to the house after church to try and convince her one last time to come to the party, and had been pleasantly surprised to hear her agree. But now they were going to be pretty late and he was supposed to set up the music.

"No I don't," she grumbled, slamming her brush down on the counter. "I look like shit."

Juice sighed. "Ava, no you don't. You look gorgeous just like you always do."

Her head snapped around at the words and she narrowed her eyes. "Why do you always do that?"

"What?"

"Compliment me."

He leaned back and braced his hands on the bed, watching as she came stalking out of the bathroom toward him. It was comical to see her angry. Kozik had talked about how she'd been damn near frightening the afternoon he'd found her over Hap's injured body, but Juice had a hard time believing that. She was too young and too cute to look anything but sexy when she was displeased. It put a flush in her cheeks and she popped her hips when she walked. "Because it's true," he said with a grin he couldn't contain.

She came up to his knees and halted, glaring down at him. "You're not funny."

"Oh, I'm _really _funny." He put his hands on her waist and urged her to him. She resisted, but finally straddled his lap, hands settling together behind his neck. "See? That's so much better."

She sighed, but he didn't miss the way she sucked at her bottom lip when he passed a hand up her back. "Thought you didn't want to be late," she quipped, but her body was giving her away as she leaned into the touch. His fingers found the clasp of her bra and she resisted, pulling away. "Don't wind it up if you don't have time to play," she warned.

He'd been thinking that a quickie would ease her nerves about the party, but the tilt of her chin and the darkness in her voice had him mock scowling. "Who said anything about playing?"

**-O-**

She was still rattled after her "love" slip, no longer in desperate need of Juice's friendly comfort, but needing Happy – who wasn't here. She knew it was wrong of her, but she'd had to do it; had to bait Juice just a little bit. He'd started out with the macho act, had rolled her under him and told her, in a false voice of confidence, that he didn't need to be told how to make a woman cum the right way.

He hadn't undressed, she'd felt the cool flat of his bet buckle flop against her stomach as he'd worked her jeans down her hips, but then his facade had dissolved. He'd groaned when he'd entered her. "Goddamn, baby, you're so good and tight," he'd said against the side of her throat as he'd slow pumped those first few strokes.

Now she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, letting herself get carried off as he came closer, concentrating on her own building pleasure. She knew she left scratches up his arms, but he was sweet with her; sucking on her neck, licking his way across her collar bone.

Ava had a problem she couldn't deny any longer. She lusted after Juice. But Juice was in love with her. And if she hadn't had her fill, if she couldn't let go, then where did that leave them?

**TBC**


	12. Of Wolf and Man

**AN: **Thanks so much for the feedback, everyone! And thanks to Angie for her constant patience and help.

…

**12. Of Wolf and Man**

Ava should have driven separately in her truck, because having her arms wrapped around Juice's middle, her body pressed to his, chin hooked snugly over his shoulder, only served to reinforce the bond that was swelling like some freak, malignant tumor. There was no in between on a bike; you committed fully, or you ate pavement.. So there was no chance to establish a necessary distance after their latest sticky-sweet and intense interaction. He fucked her, yes, but he loved her as he did it, in a physical sense that she had craved so badly from Happy and had seen so seldom. She couldn't think that – couldn't let herself find a new and exciting station with a man in which she was loved in bed. Because that would mean that Hap had somehow not fulfilled her, and that wasn't possible.

But instead of putting some space between them, here she was, clinging to him on the ride to the clubhouse. At the red lights, he'd reach back and knead at the calf she'd mentioned kept cramping up on her; strong fingers working at the knotted muscles through her jeans. Or he'd press his hand over hers on his stomach, silently asking if she was okay. She could smell him over the wind; cologne, aftershave, the hint of her shampoo he'd used that morning. He was everywhere, all over her, in her and around her, she was metaphorically choking on Juice – though sometimes literally – and yet she had her arms around him now, strengthening the love she was now starting to feel sure he felt for her.

She watched over his shoulder as he dipped in at the T-M gate. The party was already revving up, the lot packed with bikes and the usual cars. Sons, hangarounds and sweetbutts milled in front of the clubhouse, red Solo cups in their hands. Ava scanned the crowd, a knot tightening in her gut as Juice swung his Dyna around and then backed it into place alongside the others.

This would be the first time since the funeral that she would see the Redwood charter as a whole. Add out of town members to the mix, and it promised a jostled, painfully drawn-out evening of pretending she was whole. And that she was fine with the fact that her man was eleven weeks in the ground and Juice loved her.

"Ava." Juice was off the bike, hanging his helmet off the handlebars, and extending a gloved hand for her to take. She was still sitting, hands braced on the seat in front of her, staring.

Ava let her gaze move slowly up his arm, across the burnished skin that caught the faintest glow from the spill of light put out by the clubhouse, over the tats and the white shirt sleeve, all the way up to the face creased with worry. She was zoning out, again, and it bothered him. "I'm fine," she said too quickly, swinging off the bike and unsnapping her helmet.

She delayed it as long as she could, but there was only so much time she could spend raking her hair back into place, and then Juice looked ready to burst he was so pumped about this party, an elbow offered for her to crook her arm through. She had gripped his hand so tightly the day she'd first seen Sam on the ultrasound. And she clung to the muscles in his shoulders and back when he took her pain away, slept intertwined with him, arms and legs not finding any bubble of space that was too personal. She showered with him, laid with him, shared a bed and food and ice cream spoons with him, and suddenly the thought of walking up to the party with her arm through his made her physically ill. But she complied, not resisting when he pulled her in tight until their sides touched as they walked. And into the lion's den they went.

**-O-**

Juice was in a good damn mood. He'd brought a couple of girls to parties before, but then it had always been a trial run sort of scenario. But with Ava, this was her world, her life, her family. His family. She was part of his family. He had no relatives in Charming and SAMCRO was his life blood, therefore Ava always had been by default. But tonight, she felt so perfect inside his arm. He was learning her, was growing comfortable to the point that she felt natural and very right when he held her around the waist and towed her along outside the clubhouse. She didn't fit the "type" he'd conjured for himself in his head, but that was okay, because she was beautiful, sexy, and pressed tight to his side in a way that made him proud to have a club woman with him tonight. He had never realized what an ego boost that was.

He glanced down once more to check on her, speech stalling like it had every time thus far. Damn, she just got prettier in his eyes the more he looked at her. She was in a thin, fitted black sweater with a hood, white tank peeking out from her cleavage. It contrasted with the pearlescent glow of her skin, highlighting the darkness of her hair and eyes. Shit…he liked blondes with huge racks and blue eyes…what was he doing falling deeper and deeper into this vortex that prevented him from seeing anyone but Ava?

It was because she was family. For the first time, he had a friend _and _a lover all in one. Only she hadn't been much of a friend lately. Not since before the funeral. The two sides of her had not merged yet.

"You ridin' up next weekend?" Glen asked, pulling Juice's attention from Ava and all her lovely blank stares off at nothing. He had come over to talk with the Tacoma VP in the hopes Ava would join the conversation – so far she'd had no interest in Bobby, Jax, or Opie, and Juice wasn't stupid enough to take her over to Chibs. But still nothing, even with Glen.

"I dunno, man," he answered, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand. Because honestly, he didn't know. He hadn't been gone longer than a work day and he wasn't sure what a weekend run would do to Ava. "Unless Jax mandates, I'll probably hang back."

Glen nodded, eyes flicking to Ava briefly. He could see it. He wasn't Tig; he knew and cared enough about the girl to read the misery on her face.

Juice was starting to feel desperate. They'd been making such progress, why this? Why now? He wondered if maybe a little more _special _attention would perk her up. He could take her inside and find a dorm room in a little while, bring her back to life until she gasped and clawed under him. He'd never take her in the main room, up on the pool table like some sweetbutt. No, this was a real girl and she deserved a bed and privacy.

He glanced down at her again and was surprised to see her staring up at him. It was like going back to square one, those first few weeks when she'd been so lost. He drummed his fingers against her hip. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded. Her eyes moved away from him. "I'm gonna take a walk. Get something to drink."

Juice frowned and popped an eyebrow up. Drink? Walk? That could lead to some drunken-pregnant-suicide trip for her. "Ava -,"

"I'll be fine, Juice," she sighed, ducking out from under his arm. She shoved her hands in her back pockets and headed away from him, through the crowd toward the door of the clubhouse.

He watched her go, sadness descending when he realized this was the first time she'd so willingly separated from him.

Glen cleared his throat. "She's still messed up, kid. You can't fix that." Juice scowled at him and the Tacoma biker shrugged. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. We all know she loved Hap too much."

**-O-**

Ava didn't get a drink, but she did walk, shuffling aimlessly through the clubhouse and trying to avoid either of her parents. The notion of Juice's adoration was like a burning neon sign in her head, one she couldn't shut off, and it was driving her insane.

"How you doin', Little Bit?" the familiar voice and greeting pulled her out of her funk. He chuckled. "Sorry…Little _Killer_."

Koz was sitting against the wall in a wooden chair, the one next to him vacated. He was leaned back, legs spread, a beer resting on one thigh. The sight of his well known face – the shit-eating grin and spiky blond hair – jarred old, warm memories of afternoons spent in Seattle with "Uncle Koz" and Happy. She wanted to cry and laugh all at the same time. She'd had no idea Kozik would be here tonight and for the first time, the glassy disinterest broke and let him slip through.

"Hey, man," she greeted, plopping down next to him. "Didn't know you were in town."

His grin widened, if that was possible, and he reached out to scuff her chin lightly with his knuckles in a play punch gesture. "Came to see my favorite person in Charming."

"You don't like anyone in Charming."

"I know. So you're my favorite."

She felt a chuckle rise in her throat and was so glad she'd run into him. Koz was brave and strong, was more Hap's brother than the others had been. She'd always loved him as family, but now she was immensely pleased that he was here. Koz understood, he knew what Hap had meant to her. He wasn't staring adoringly at her, wanting to her to fall in love with him.

The chuckle caught, warped, and then she was sobbing, unable to stop herself. "Oh, Koz," she choked out. "Everything's terrible. It's so, so terrible."

**-O-**

It broke the heart the guys swore he didn't have to see her like this. Koz didn't like kids as a rule; but Ava had always been his little exception. So watching her now, her knees curled to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs, sobs racking her body was depressing as shit. He'd moved her to a dorm when he'd realized he'd unwittingly opened the flood gates. And now she was falling to little jagged pieces, trying and failing to suck her tears in with gulped breaths, unable to stem the flow of physical grief that came pouring out of her.

"Ava, kid," he leaned back against whoever's dresser this was and faced off from her. "You gotta calm down. People are gonna think I brought you back here and beat the shit out of you."

She glared at him, but then dissolved again. "I'm sorry!" she wailed. "I don't mean to. It's just…it's all _wrong_! All of it. Happy's gone and then Juice…" she closed her eyes, tears running down her cheeks, and shook her head.

"He's steppin' up, right?" he asked. "Is he not doin' his job? 'Cause I'll kick his stupid ass into next week."

"No, he's more than stepping up. He's stepping all the way up. He -,"

Koz sighed as she launched into another incoherent sobbing fit. "What? What's he doing wrong?"

She pulled in a rattling stream of air, wiped at her messy eyes, and fixed him with a look so dark, so full of anger, that it transported him back to that moment on the side of the highway with her. When she'd leaned over Hap's unconscious body and aimed her empty gun at him. She was that girl now – the one whose very existence was being threatened. Her voice shook, but was no longer sad when she spoke. It was furious. "He loves me!"

Fuck him, this was worse than he'd thought. This wasn't just weepy sadness; because as much as that made him uncomfortable, he could at least deal with it. Some tissues. A pat on the back. This, though, was downright deranged. So blind in her grief and love for Hap, Ava was seeing Juice's affection as some kind of assault. That or she'd reached a whole new level of denial.

"Um…" he debated his approach to this. Where was Maggie? Wasn't this the sort of conversation she should have been having with her mother? "But that's a good thing. He cares and that's what Hap wanted."

"What Hap wanted?" She came vaulting up off the bed, arms flung out to the side. "So, Hap wanted to die? Wanted to leave me? None of this is what anyone wanted!"

"Shit happens," he reasoned with another sigh as she began to pace crazily. "You had to know this was a possibility."

She shook her head as she walked a tight line in front of him.

"At least Hap set something up. He loved you enough to do that -,"

"I know he did!" she interrupted. "But how could he think…I mean…how is Juice supposed to be his replacement?'

Had no one had this conversation with the girl? Jesus Christ, where was Maggie? "Kid, I love ya, but I can't do this with you," he said. This was seriously killing his buzz. Not to mention, dredging up memories of his dead friend and brother that he didn't want to relive in front of others. He struggled with that loss enough; he didn't need Ava's ramblings to make it worse. "You need to get cleaned up and go back to the party."

She halted, arms folded over her chest, watery eyes pegging him back against the dresser. Tears still ran down her cheeks, but the flow was stemming, her features clouded over with so much pointless fury that the sadness was being forced to yield. "I don't wanna go back to the party," she snarled, petulant like a five-year-old who wasn't getting her way.

Koz wasn't sure he'd ever seen her this way when she truly had been five, so it was disturbing now. Only one person could have talked her off this insane ledge of self-pity, and he was dead. But fortunately for him, Koz had been close enough with the killer to know exactly what he would have said.

"Ava," he hardened his voice. "Cut the shit. I feel bad for you, I hate what you're going through, but this is goddamn stupid. Dry it up and get out of here. Act like an Old Lady."

She wiped her cheeks clean with the back of her sleeve. "I'm not an Old Lady anymore."

"Like hell," he snorted, leaning forward so he could loom over her just a little bit. "You were Hap's, and now you're Juice's, and you're being shitty to both of them with this little stunt."

"Stunt?" she bristled. But he glared, daring her to continue, and then he saw the fight leave her on a sigh. "Yeah. Okay." She wiped her face again. Her eyes flicked up and down his frame in an unexpected move. "Whatever you say."

"Damn straight," he nodded. Goddamn, why did Hap have to leave behind a chick who needed such firm handling? No wonder Juice didn't have a tight enough hold on her – he wasn't straight forward enough with her. "You gotta be harder than this, sweetheart. They told me you're pregnant, Ava, you gotta do right by Hap's kid, yeah?"

Her eyes dropped, and then settled on his, unblinking. "Yeah," her voice was a little detached, floating it seemed, not a part of those scary-dark eyes that were riveted on his. Warning bells went off with loud insistence in his head when she took a step forward. He hadn't ever seen her like this, but it wasn't a hard expression to read. "I just…" she trailed off and lifted a hand, lowering it, hovering over his arm, her eyes leaving his for another sweep of his body, and then back. Her mouth fell open just a touch, her face softened, he could hear her breathing, knew it was…an invitation.

A physical, unspoken protest raced along his nerve endings. _Oh, fuck no! _"What the hell?" he nearly shouted, knocking her hand away. His palm smacked against her wrist, sending her arm flying off with more force than intended.

Ava shrank back, arms going around her middle, eyes enlarging like she might start with the water works again.

"Absolutely not!" Koz snapped. He was rattled now and that pissed him off. "You're like my _niece_, Ava. You really wanna be that stupid? Jump on guys like your mom would?"

She bit her lip at the comparison.

"You're with Juice now. You go be with him, you respect Happy by doing what he wanted, and we'll pretend this…_shit_…never happened."

**-O-**

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you in ages."

Juice was still outside, listening to Tig and one of Hap's old Nomad pals, Mayday, try to out-brag one another. So far, the gargantuan Mayday had more hits under his belt and it wasn't hard to believe. Juice, though, had become suddenly distracted by Mindy, one of their regular Crow Eaters.

Thirty-six and claiming to be younger, copper skinned and proud of her Native American heritage, she was one he'd had only a time or two, but upon whom he seemed to have left an impression. It wasn't about the sex. She'd told him how shitty her youth had been – abuse, rape – and she was looking to bag what she'd called a ", sweet boy". He wasn't sure if he should be insulted by that comment, but tonight, he wasn't interested either way.

"Yeah, well," he shrugged ", I've been handling some stuff."

Mindy scrunched up her nose and tilted her head, raven hair sloshing over her shoulders with a loud rustling sound. "Oh…that's right…that girl. Chibs' kid."

_That girl. _Like Ava was some unfortunate obligation he was dying to get rid of. He frowned. "Yeah." And then turned away from Mindy, taking a long swig of his beer.

"Damn," she clucked inside her cheek. "That's gotta be rough. I hear she was a bit crazy even when Happy was alive -,"

"Stop," he shot her a hard look and saw shock register on her face. "Don't talk about her. You have no idea what she's going through."

He glanced away, across the parking lot full of bodies, irrationally pissed. All these stupid people with their stupid opinions about his role in all of this. _Poor Juice. Psycho bitch. Real tragedy. _Had no one considered, at all, that he might _want _to be where he was now? That maybe he…shit…maybe he what? Was starting to think of her as his Old Lady?

Yeah. He was.

"Juice," the snapping of fingers pulled his attention. Tig was giving him a strange look. "You aware of what's going on over there?"

"Over where?" he scanned the lot again.

The Sgt at Arms snorted. "Ava."

**-O-**

Kozik couldn't shake the sick feeling that had accompanied Ava's glassy-eyed attempt at seduction. He'd always been "Uncle Koz", never the object of her unwavering affection like Hap had been. He knew that hadn't changed, that she was black and twisted inside as burned tree limbs and trying to drown herself in what she'd always called Hap's "power". Things with Juice were getting dangerously intimate without any of that malice and threat she was accustomed to. She wasn't a thrill seeker by nature, but tonight, she was running across the amusement park, cutting lines and trying to find the roughest roller coaster she could. Only some of the other "rides" wouldn't have his attachment. And as many out of town members as were present, Ava was going to get herself hurt – in a very literal, physical sense.

Koz pushed through the stagnant crowd of bodies, scanning faces, looking for the scarred cheeks of the Redwood VP. "Chibs!" he spotted a flash of salt and pepper hair. "Chibs."

He shouldered through the last human barricade, muttering an excuse to the disgruntled brothers, and finally reached the couch where the Scotsman was sitting with Jax and Opie. "Bro," he stressed the word oddly – there were people in Charming who used the term very loosely with him. "We need to talk."

Chibs frowned. "About…?"

"Your kid. She's lost her damn mind."

**-O-**

Clarity had come to Ava, white hot and sharp as lightening. Standing with Koz, overcome with this sudden realization that it wasn't just sex she needed, but the reminder of Happy within that sex. Juice loved her, was too invested; there was too much intimacy. But Koz…Koz would take her from behind on the floor, like Hap. Only that had been the wrong choice. Koz had always been "Uncle Koz" and she'd made a mistake. She knew that now. He'd never concede to that plan.

Someone else would, though. A stranger. Someone from Fresno, from Utah. A Son she'd never met before. Someone with a dangerous side. Someone who didn't stare at her with big brown eyes and trace the contours of her cheek with a gentle finger afterward. She couldn't take that shit anymore; that bonding shit. It was too sweet, too _emotional. _If she was going to betray Hap, it would be with just her body, not with her heart. Not that her heart was involved. Not at all. Because Juice and all his fucking _love _had no effect on her.

"Hey, guys," she purred. She'd chosen her targets carefully; three Sons in Utah cuts who were parked in camp chairs, smoking and laughing with one another. One in particular seemed to fit the bill; early forties, close-cropped dark hair, scar in one black eyebrow. He had one of those sharp jaws and when he grinned up at her, his smile was nasty. Perfect.

"Well hey, sweetheart," one of his friends said. "Where they been hidin' you all night?"

She could do this. She could. She could close her eyes and turn around and the Utah Son with the feral smile could help feed the addiction without loving her for a second. "I've been around," she put a hand on her hip, trying to mimic Gemma as best she could because she realized with sudden panic that she had no idea how to flirt properly. She'd never had to. Happy had just loved her always anyway…

_No! Don't think of him. _"Where are you boys from?" she dropped her voice a notch, letting her heavily shadowed eyelids droop just a bit.

"Salt Lake," Nasty Smile said, his grin going sideways. "Though if I'd known they kept such pretty girls in Charming, I'd have asked for a transfer."

**-O-**

"Hold this." Juice shoved his beer blindly out to the side and someone took it from him. He didn't get pissed often. And usually it involved some non-club scumbag they were shaking down for intel. But now, he felt adrenaline shooting down his limbs as he struck off across the parking lot.

Some asshole, some motherfucking looking for a beatdown asshole, had Ava in his lap. Someone had _his Old Lady _and was holding her against her will in his lap.

**-O-**

Chibs came out the clubhouse with Koz on his heels, scowling to himself. He'd stayed away from Ava because he'd thought that was best, but apparently, that wasn't an option anymore. The shit she was trying to pull tonight was going to stop, by God, even if he had to haul her away like the little girl she still was.

He saw Juice, jaw clenched, face on lockdown as he stormed across their path, chest puffed out. "Where is he…"

"Oh shit," Koz muttered, spying the reason behind the uncharacteristic display of aggression from the intelligence officer.

"Aye. Shit."

**-O-**

The Utah Son with the smile was rather lanky, Ava realized, once she was sitting sideways on his knee. Hap had been lean, his muscles cut and standing out in stark relief under his tan skin. But, to her horror, that wasn't the first comparison she made. Her first reaction was that this guy was too skinny because she was used to Juice's solid bulk of muscle. Juice was thick and sturdy and this guy was wiry and not as comfortable. But that wasn't the point of this exercise. She was supposed to not be thinking about him.

She passed a hand over his much-too-flat chest and forced a smile she hoped was seductive. "So, what are you planning on doing later tonight?"

He chuckled. "Is that a trick question?"

"No," her smile became more genuine. "I was hoping -,"

"Hey!" the call was so forceful it took Ava a moment to place the speaker. "What the shit?"

But when she turned her head, it all clicked into place. When he walked fast like this, Juice looked like he was on an ass-kicking mission, which usually just jarred with the expression on his face and made him seem like an anxious eight-year-old. Tonight, though, as he stalked up to the lap she was sitting across, his shoulders were rolled and his arms were out to the side, tight, muscles clenched up. Had Ava not known him, she might have found him intimidating as he came to a puffed-up halt, chain still swinging with the momentum of his walk and rattling against his leg. As it was, she suddenly found herself a little turned on.

"There a problem?" the guy with the smile and the lap asked.

Something like excitement licked through Ava. This suddenly felt like the night in Sacramento when Hap had found her with that poor kid from school. Only Juice wasn't looking at her with murderous betrayal in his eyes, was instead solely focused on the Utah Son, fingers cranking into big fists as he continued to glare at him.

"You're from out of town, so I'll let this slide," Juice's voice was rigid. Unlike himself. "But around here, we don't push up on Old Ladies."

"Whoa," the guy held up a hand, the other going around Ava's waist. Through it all, she sat there, riveted, looking between the two of them. "She's nobody's Old Lady. She told me she was a sweetbutt."

Juice's scowl deepened to the point where he was no longer recognizable – not one trace of Jean Carlos left in his features. He grabbed for Ava's arm, fingers locking tight around her wrist as he tried to pull her away. "Lying piece of shit," he snarled at the other guy. "Back the _fuck _off!" He gripped her little wrist until she felt her bones grind together, gasping as he pulled her half to her feet against the hold the other guy had on her hip.

Ava had never seen this. Then again, she'd never seen Juice with a woman to protect. He was jealous, angry, enraged even, and he thought it was all this dude's fault; that Ava was an unwilling victim. She felt guilty…sort of…but she did nothing to alleviate the situation, too curious. Too enthralled to make a move in either direction. This hadn't been her plan, but suddenly, it seemed like an opportunity; a chance to help Juice see the light.

_Yes _a tiny voice inside her head cheered. _Let him figure this out. Let him see that he doesn't really want you…he's not a killer…he can't handle you…_

Other shouts struck up around them and she was dumped onto her feet as the Utah Son stood. And then her dad and Koz were there, Tig too, Juice was breathing so hard his chest pumped up and down and he refused to let go of her. She knew the issue was being cleared up; that the men weren't going to let this stranger think she was a sweetbutt. But the gauntlet had been thrown down. Utah had his feelings hurt. And there was only one way to solve a disagreement between brothers.

The ring.

**-O-**

"Ava," Maggie sighed beside her on top of the picnic table. "What have you done, sweetheart?"

She shrugged but didn't answer, watching the two Sons in the ring with a surgeon's scrutiny. She could tell she was starting to pull back into that dead place inside herself. She'd been excited at first, but as the guys stripped cuts and shirts, rolling their shoulders and amping up, it became apparent that the Utah guy was a good head taller and much more aggressive, just with his warm up movements. Juice didn't stand a chance. And though it would prove her point, it was going to get the dummy hurt…and she didn't want that.

He stood in the corner of the ring with Chibs, the Scottish ex-prize fighter gripping his shoulder tight and whispering some last minute cautions. Juice nodded adamantly, drinking up the words of wisdom. In the opposite corner, the Utah Son was stretching his arms over his head, face serious. He would win and he knew it.

Around the ring, the Charming Sons shot her dirty looks. Koz. Tig. Jax. Her father as he stepped back from the ring. She met each one without blinking and then moved her eyes back to the ring. Juice and the other guy were circling one another now. Their rings had been taken and bare fists were raised. Juice cracked his neck side to side, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Ava had been on this same table, with her mother, and had watched Hap fight for the very same thing; her honor. Only now, it was with sinking dread that she studied the way her defender sized up his opponent. Juice wasn't a fighter. He could throw punches when he had to, but he wasn't a killer. He didn't have those instincts in him. This was just an outward display of his misguided love.

"Juice," Jax called from the sidelines. "C'mon, man, let's be reasonable here."

Juice scowled, not liking the President's insinuation. He shook his head, just a fraction, and then wasn't ready when Utah made the first move.

He outweighed the other guy and that was what saved him; able to brace his feet apart and absorb the impact. Utah had charged, catching Juice with a right hook that glanced off his jaw. There was a collective _ooooh _from the gathering crowd, and several cheers as Juice ducked the next punch and shoved them apart, putting a good three feet between them.

"Ava." Maggie's hand closed gently around her chin and turned her face around. She looked pale, hazel eyes wide. "What are you doing?" she repeated. "Did you…did you _let this happen_? You know he can't -,"

"It was his choice, Mom." She pulled away from her mother and faced the action again. Because it _was _his choice. Juice had chosen to love her. Now he could see what came along with that decision.

She watched, unaffected, as blows were traded and Juice received the worst of the beating. Chibs yelled at him, unintelligible bits of frantic advice. But it was fruitless. Juice was foolish to have even tried this. His emotions were in a real stupid place at the moment and it was going to get him hurt. He was bleeding; above his eye, from at least one nostril, the corner of his mouth, blotting at the flow with the back of a hand between punches. His arm was red almost up to his elbow from the transfer. He swayed a bit; those thick bundles of muscle and padding not doing a thing to his advantage as he panted and waited for the next round of blows. The guys on the ground were getting restless, already climbing up the ropes as if to break up the fight.

Ava sighed and shook her head. "Dumbass," she muttered to herself.

And then Utah clocked Juice so hard he went down, all the way down, hands and knees on the mat, spitting blood from his freshly split lip. Chibs was in the ring now, hovering over him. He rested a hand on his sweat-slick back, leaning low to no doubt ask if he was alright. Utah was grinning, cocky, proud of his victory. Ava felt her insides shriveling. She would be expected to climb back on his back, put her arms around him again, and ride home with a man who loved her without reason and couldn't even hold his own in the ring. She was staring at the black stripe of his mohawk and the bolts inked to either side of it, and then suddenly she was looking at his eyes. He was bloody and out of breath, panting, and his eyes went right to her.

"Ava," Maggie sounded angry beside her. A hand closed over her arm. "Playing with him is one thing, but you're getting him _hurt. _He's not Hap."

_No shit. _He was anything _but _Hap. She loved Happy, she loved him so much, but he'd picked wrong. He should have known she would need someone with an animal inside him. Someone who would keep her safe, keep her satisfied, keep her from needing anything else. He'd been wrong. So wrong about Juice.

In the ring, Chibs was trying to help Juice get back to his feet, but he was still on his hands and knees, still staring at her. She sighed, frowning. What did he want her for? Why had he let this happen to himself? Why did he –

If she'd blinked, she would have missed it, but something shifted, just a little, why she didn't know – probably because the disdain was bleeding from her eyes, but for a moment, she would have sworn she was watching…Happy. For a moment, there was something feral behind his eyes, and she knew what would happen before it did.

Juice shoved up fast, on his feet in an instant, ducking around Chibs who tried to protest the move, and was on Utah before the other Son could get up his defenses. Juice had big hands, big fists, and for once, he used that natural advantage for something useful. The weight too; throwing his extra twenty pounds into the punch he landed on the other man's cheek.

Something came alive inside her; something she hadn't felt in the near three months since she'd lost Happy. Excitement. It tingled up and down her spine, had her shaking and warm all at once. She was excited, hands curling into fists on her thighs, as she watched Juice lose his mind and tear into the Utah member.

**-O-**

The human face was a fragile thing. And this one looked like some douchebag, MC version of Johnny Depp, making its decimation all the easier. This asshole had touched his _Old Lady _and Juice wanted him to look like chewed up hamburger. _Try chasing tail now, fucking asshole._

It felt good. His hand was good for things besides typing, besides wiring cars, besides twisting the throttle and earning climactic gasps from his girl when she came around his fingers. Because that's what she was; his girl. And now his hand was loving wrecking bone and flesh into something unrecognizable as he wailed on this Utah son of a bitch. They were on the mat now, he could feel it under his knees, and his own blood dripped off his face and onto the mangled one of his opponent. They thought he was weak. They thought he was just doing his job. They didn't know shit about him and they sure as hell didn't know shit about his Ava.

"Juicy-boy, come on! That's enough!" Chibs shouted somewhere behind and above him. But he kept going until his arm was snatched out of the air on the backward pull. "You've made your point. Come on, son."

Reluctantly, he let himself get hauled to his feet; someone else was on his other side and together, Chibs and whoever hoisted him to a standing position. He couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs and could feel them expanding father than they should, struggling to bursting. But he could see the asshole on the ground at his feet and still had the energy to spit the blood that flowed from his lip down across the other Son.

"Alright, cool it," it was Opie on his other side. He and Chibs started to pull him toward the ropes and his knees tried to give out.

Juice staggered and they caught him. He could hear the murmurs and the stage whispers. The whistles and curses. He turned his head, vision swimming a moment, and sought Ava in the crowd. He finally found her as he leaned heavily against the ropes. She was smiling.

**TBC**


	13. She Wolf

**AN: **This is really just a cut scene from last chapter. I thought it deserved its own installment.

**13. She Wolf**

Ava had known, as her father and Opie disappeared into the clubhouse with Juice, that there would be repercussions for her. She just hadn't expected them to be delivered so quickly.

Jax stalked toward her and his wife intercepted him. "Let me get my kit out of the car," she said as she walked backward in front of him.

"Go see about him," he pointed toward the ring where several of the Utah Son's friends were trying to haul him to his feet.

"But Juice -,"

"Go, Tara." He paused, shooting a nasty glare in Ava's direction. "Ava's gonna clean up her own goddamn mess."

Ava could feel the anger swelling inside her like a living thing. Jax didn't scare her – his swishy hair and that scraggly Jesus beard of his. President or no, he was her cousin, and he wasn't intimidating for shit. It was ridiculous, considering whose Old Lady she'd been, that any of these boys thought they could frighten her. _Come on, cuz, _she thought with a scowl of her own. _Bitch me out._

"Jax," Maggie had that _let's not be hasty _quality to her voice. "You don't have to make a scene -,"

"Shut up, Mags," he bit out, reaching for Ava. She resisted, but like Juice had, he clamped onto her wrist and tugged her up off the picnic table. "Come with me." Maggie protested but Jax shook her off, tucking Ava's arm under his and firmly pulling her along after him as he threaded his way through the dispersing crowd toward the clubhouse.

Ava didn't care – she was still riding the high of jubilation at seeing Juice kick someone's ass for once – but she knew why Jax was so pissed at her. And she knew where he was taking her as they crossed the common room and went down the back hall where the dorms were. He stopped her in front of a door, spun her to face him, and scowled.

"I'm only gonna say this once, Ava," he said, gripping her shoulder hard. "I don't know why you did it, or how you did it, but I know you started that shit with Juice and Roman. You're still grieving – I get that – but this _can't _happen anymore."

She sighed.

"No, don't gimme that shit. You're gonna get Juice _hurt _if you keep this up. You're his Old Lady now, so fuckin' act like it."

She ground her teeth, refusing to comply with him.

"Go in there," he aimed a finger at the door ", you clean him up, and do as you're told from now on. No more fights between brothers."

She nodded, hating him as she did so, and slipped inside the dorm she now recalled was Juice's. The bathroom door was open and he was seated on the closed toilet lid, holding his chin in a battered hand while Chibs inspected the busted split in his skin above his eye. His nostrils were plugged up with bloody twists of tissue. Crimson streaked his hands, his arms, his chest where it had rolled down his throat.

Chibs heard the floor creak and snapped his head around. When he saw it was her, he frowned. "Stay there." She obliged, folding her arms and lingering in the doorway. She hadn't seen her father in weeks and she was trembling now…hating the sight of him, not wanting to occupy the same space. He washed his hands, pulled the peroxide out of the medicine cabinet, and came toward her, thrusting the bottle into her unwilling hands. "Clean him up," he said in a low, dark voice. And then he left, slamming the door.

In the following silence, she could hear Juice breathing through his mouth, harder than he should have been. Without looking at him, she set the peroxide on the counter and dampened a washcloth she found below the sink in the cabinets. She wrung it out, delaying. She hadn't counted on this part of it. When she glanced over, she half expected him to be looking at her, but he stared at the floor, head in his hands, breathing still labored.

It wasn't there now – that peek of the animal she'd seen – but it had been there, for a moment. Long enough to leave that Utah Son in need of plastic surgery. Long enough for Juice to win.

Wow, Juice had won. He'd fought for her, and he'd won.

Ava pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and washed her hands, eyes searching the counter for something halfway sterile. There was a bag of gauze pads tucked up under the mirror that her dad must have left out and she opened it with a crack of the Ziploc seal, grabbing a handful.

Juice still hadn't moved and worry tickled through the anger. She frowned as she leaned over him. "Do you have a concussion?"

"No." He lowered his hands and sat up, his face really coming into the light for the first time. He was a mess; was going to have two black eyes, had a deep gash on one cheek and around both temples. "He slipped a ring back on," he explained, eyes cutting over toward her as he pulled the plugs out of his nose and dropped them in the wastebasket.

Ava knew the face bled pretty profusely even with minor lacerations, but there seemed to be too much on his. It was hard to tell wound from good skin. Her hand shook as she fumbled back on the counter for the washcloth and then brought it carefully to his face. He flinched on impulse, sighed, and then settled. "It's okay," he assured, nodding, and she wiped gently at the cheek that wasn't split open.

_He slipped a ring back on. _Mr. Utah with the wicked grin had broken the "rules" and fought dirty. And he was still a faceless pulp being scraped off the mat. Juice had still won. She could tell herself that his inner wolf, that well disguised reserve of ferocity, had been tapped into naturally – but it hadn't. He'd looked at her and in that moment of eye contact, the animal had come roaring to the surface. Hap's had always been there, but Juice's needed a catalyst; an emotional one. And all the sappy affection that had driven her to Utah's lap had been what had turned Juice from victim to victor. Had protected her reputation. Because she…Jesus Christ…she'd intended to _fuck _that random guy. She…she'd been so panicked about having Juice inside her while she carried Hap's baby…and then here…here she had contemplated someone like that asshole? Who didn't love her? Who didn't care how precious her Sam was? Who wouldn't have snuck her doughnuts when Gemma wasn't around? Who…

Her legs quit working and she staggered the few steps until she could sit on the edge of the bathtub. She stared at the toes of her boots, mirroring his earlier pose; head in the hands and all. The gravity of what she'd done, and what it had almost led to, hit her in a physical sense. She shook, skin feeling feverish.

"Ava."

"Oh, God," she glanced back up at his bruised and bloodied face, tears burning the backs of her eyes. "Juice, I didn't -,"

"Stop with the crying," he said seriously. His eyes were wide – well, as wide as he could get them in his current shape – but not with all the warm compassion she'd grown accustomed to. No, this was something else. Something oddly stiff and cold. "You weren't the one in the ring, so you don't get to cry."

He was angry with her. She felt her lip quivering and bit it, but her tears were now even more persistent. She sniffed. "Juice, I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

She batted her lashes furiously; unable to look away from the harsh stare he was giving her. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was the one with all the love he couldn't contain; he wasn't supposed to be _mad _at her. "I didn't want you to get hurt," she tried again, voice cracking.

Juice sighed and stared at the wall. "Yeah. Whatever." He gathered in a deep breath and she realized he was going to get up.

His wince and hissed _ow _snapped her out of her self-pitying slump. Ava stood quickly and put a hand on his shoulder. "No, sorry, sorry, I got it."

He relented, though he didn't look happy about it. Ava cursed herself as she rewet the washcloth and returned to her task, this time with steady fingers. She took her time, wiping and then rinsing the cloth until she had the cuts isolated and all the excess blood mopped away. Juice was silent and still, jaw set at an angle that told her he was embarrassed to be treated like a kid with a snotty nose; fussed over and prodded. She knew the peroxide stung a little bit as she watched it froth in his wounds. "Sorry," she whispered with a wince when his skin twitched involuntarily. His cheek could have stood a stitch or two, but she made do with the butterfly bandage in the first aid kit. The room was silent save for her quiet apologies and the sound of the tap turning off and on until she knelt to examine his knuckles.

So often, the slight similarities she found between Juice and Hap were like salt in an open wound; reminding her of what she'd never have again. Those déjà vu occurrences were few, but when she took one of his hands in hers and traced his split knuckles with the pads of her fingers, the contrast of their skin tones was as familiar and comfortable as a broken in pair of great boots. And she was glad for it, sighing with something almost like sad contentment as she prodded a gouge that looked like it had been dug by his opponent's teeth.

"I went a little nuts," Juice broke the silence and she glanced up at him. He took a deep breath, but his gaze didn't waver. "And I keep telling myself that asshole was just that; an asshole. And that none of it was your idea." He raised his brows. "I beat the shit out of that guy, Ava, and I'm just hoping there's a reason why I wanted to tear his goddamn eyes out."

He was having trouble, Ava realized, rationalizing his actions inside his head. Now that adrenaline no longer fueled his rage, guilt was nagging at him. He'd seriously injured a brother, albeit one who'd given just as good as he'd received, but now he was worried that if his feelings were for naught, then he'd have made a grave mistake. And he needed her to confirm that the animal, the monster, inside him that had come clawing out, was an acceptable component of his personality. The look in his eyes now wasn't anger, it was fear, and he wanted confirmation from her because of all the women, she knew what it was like to harness that animal.

She had a chance here; to cleave what was, or make it so strong for him it would take a chainsaw to do the job later. Chibs and Jax were furious by what she'd done. If she told Juice the truth, he would hate her, he would swim in guilt for awhile, but he'd still be the Juice her father and cousin wanted around. But what she wanted, what Sam needed – that was an entirely different breed of man.

So she lifted his hand, her fingers caressing his rough palm, and kissed his battered knuckles. "You did the right thing," she whispered across his skin. When she met his eyes again, still cradling his hand, the doubt had left his expression, the soft affection having returned just at those simple words. "Thank you, baby," she swallowed the knot in her throat. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

**-O-**

The party was still swinging, though not as hard. Most of the bachelors had split off from the herd and were in dark corners with sweetbutts, fully dressed, the women mostly naked. The lights were dim and warm, the air stale with cigarette smoke. Ava had one errand and then she'd return to the relative haven of the dorm. Juice didn't feel like riding and she wasn't opposed to a night at the clubhouse; she'd done that many a time before.

She went to the bar, after a whiskey rocks and some extra ice, intending to slip in and out before being noticed. But no such luck. Of all people, her father was at the bar, nursing a glass of something dark, smoking, and staring at nothing.

She felt his eyes as she went behind the bar and found the Jack, a glass, started scooping ice out of the little refrigerated drawer beside the sink. She hurried, praying, teeth gritted. But he spoke anyway.

"That's a great combination – pregnancy and liquor."

She whirled, insult on the tip of her tongue, but checked herself. Chibs was staring at her forlornly, eyes glassy. He'd been drinking for awhile. "It's for him," she said. "I'm not stupid."

"Never said you were, darlin'." He exhaled a thick stream of smoke and Ava told herself to walk away, but she stayed, knowing he had more to say. He tapped the ash off his cigarette and picked up his glass again. "Juice is a good boy," he said at last. "Don't wreck him, luv."

She scowled. "Sure thing, _Da_." And then stalked off, glass in hand, bottle under her arm.

**-O-**

The melting ice cubes shifted in the glass over on the nightstand. Ava could hear the sound, even above the thumping music that rattled the walls around them. Juice let out a random, deep exhale, like a sigh. With the whiskey and the Vicodin, he was heading for dreamland on an express train, but he wasn't there yet. She rubbed her palm in slow, wide circles over his chest, snuggling even closer on her side so she could slide a leg over his, her foot tucked between his shins. She still felt rattled, even if her convictions had tempered to solid steel.

"Where…" the drugs were kicking in and he wasn't saying anything coherent. But his arm was under her shoulders and he pulled her to him, until she felt squeezed, and then realized what he wanted.

Ava shifted her leg, hiking it over his hips, and burrowed into his chest, tucking her head under his chin as he rolled sideways to face her and put his other arm around her. Warm. Safe. She wanted to wretch thinking that she'd almost allowed a strange man inside her. She'd almost exposed her Sam to something foreign and non-family. Love wasn't a bad thing. Love was good. Love was her leverage here, because with it, she could control the animal. She'd realized that tonight, had seen it, and thus didn't protest the way he nuzzled her hair as sleep closed over him like a fog.

It was the Vicodin talking, the Jack too, but she didn't hate the words like she thought she would have when they came. Fear didn't rattle through her body. She was prepared, and she stayed nestled against him when the whisper reached her over the music. It was slurred, but she could understand clearly when Juice said ", love you."

**TBC**


	14. Everything You Want

**AN: **I don't usually make a point of recommending music. And all the chapters have been titled after songs – but this chapter comes from "Everything You Want" by Vertical Horizon (remember that crap from way back whenever?) and that song is _the _song that best describes the relationship here. Just thought I'd share what goes on in my crazy head.

…

**14. Everything You Want**

Something had come to Juice that morning. Not so much a thought, but this nagging sensation that he was supposed to be thinking about something. He'd had an epiphany that he needed an epiphany, but the actual ah-ha moment hadn't arrived yet. Like he was waiting in line, not so patiently, until his mind decided to kick out whatever it was he needed to know. His brain worked in concentric circles; spinning and twirling and never shutting off; a strange combination of differential equations, computer code, Xbox strategies and porn.

He'd lain, awake before the alarm, smoking and staring at the ceiling. Ava had still been asleep, on her side, facing him, her fingers twitching against his arm every so often. It had felt so domestic and yet so…not. Something was trying to talk to him, some important piece of logic, but as he unwrapped his bacon cheeseburger on the bench outside the T-M office, he still had no idea what it was.

He chewed and thought and was staring fixedly at nothing, still racking his overactive brain, when Chibs joined him. "Hey, kid," the Scot, sans lunch, plopped down on the bench beside him, digging a smoke out of his pocket.

Juice nodded a response, pushing his greasy paper bag of fries over in offering.

Chibs shook his head. "Nah. Maggie's had me on this," he rolled his eyes ", _low cholesterol _shit."

Juice chuckled. "And you're sticking to it?"

"Shit…but yeah. She's been a little overly sensitive. You know, since the…"

_Funeral._

"Yeah," he sighed and leaned back against the wooden slats, frowning. It wasn't the epiphany he'd been chasing down all day, but the VP had reminded him of another little nagging curiosity. This was potentially the stupidest thing he'd ever said, but he had to ask. "Hey, Chibs?"

"Aye."

"You were always pissed at Hap…but you're…okay with me?"

Chibs eyed him for a minute in a way that had Juice flashing back to the night of Jax's coronation when Hap had let the girl's father beat him to a senseless pulp. But then the Scot sighed and shook his head, glancing across the parking lot as he drew on his cigarette. "Hap was a brother," he said after a weighty pause. "He was dedicated to the club, and to his woman. He was good _to_ her, but he wasn't good _for _her." He glanced sideways at Juice. "What they had…it was never right. Unhealthy. You're her friend. You're good for her, Juicy-boy."

Juice took a giant bite of his burger to avoid answering. _Unhealthy _was the understatement of the year. When Hap had been alive, it had been easy to assume that Ava was afflicted with teenager puppy love and obsession. But now, Juice knew this was a whole new category of dependency. Hap had been her heroin. The way she felt about him was unhealthy in a lick your steering wheel, _hello, Clarice _sort of way.

And here was that _friend _word again. It was something Juice had thought of two weeks before; the night of the party. Where had the girl he'd played video games with gone? The horror movie marathons, the inside jokes, the countless hours downloading illegal music and laughing at the stupid shit on the other's playlists. What the hell had happened to that?

Maggie's voice started mid-sentence as the office door opened. "…about four hours give or take. Call though, and it'll save you the walk back."

A couple emerged. In their mid-twenties, smiling, well matched in size and looks. The guy was dressed like he'd gotten off his shift at the mill, sawdust on his boots, and put an arm around his girl's waist as they headed across the parking lot toward the street. He leaned over and whispered something in her ear that earned him a light smack and a ", you wish!" She ducked out from under his arm when he went to pick her up and they laughed and dodged one another, the girl squealing in startled delight when he finally caught her and hefted her over his shoulder.

Juice didn't realize he'd sighed until Chibs nudged him. "What? Oh." He licked a spot of mustard off his thumb. "Nothing."

"Yeah," Chibs said like he didn't believe him.

Well, it was nothing, right? Or was it…maybe it was…

His epiphany came with a _ding ding ding _of game show bells in his head. Friend. That's what had been bugging me. Things had been better since the party; more settled. But the routine was the same. Complete disinterest or crazy, desperate, pawing sex. What those two had – those strangers who were so happy – was a bond beyond the bedroom. And with Ava, shit, the fucking was _good_, but that didn't mean things were okay. He had been wanting, needing lately, for her to be caught up emotionally as well.

He was going to get her back; the Old Ava. The girl who laughed at his ridiculous dance moves and shared ice cream with him. He could do it; he could. After the fight, her tears, her kneeling in front of him with his hand in hers, that had meant something. That was her reach, but she'd fallen short, and it was his job to make the final connection.

"Watch my food," he said and pushed off the bench, digging his cell out of his pocket as he walked away.

**-O-**

"Shhhh!"

Ava held up her hands in surrender as she passed through the living room on her way to the kitchen with an arm full of empty beer bottles. Apparently, Juice thought his nightstand – _Hap's _nightstand – was a trash receptacle. Though if she was honest, she'd been a total slob too. She dumped the bottles in the trash and made her way silently back into the other room.

On the sofa, both staring fixedly at the TV, her best friend Caroline – visiting for the weekend – and Maggie's mother Diane were an odd pair. The day had been a not-so-subtle attempt to check up on her mental health poorly disguised as a cleaning day. Only at two o' clock, her friend and grandmother had both realized they were addicted to the same soap opera, and now they were absorbed; Caroline and the blue streak in her black hair, Diane in her elastic waist jeans and shirt with the appliqué flower pots.

"Oh my," Diane said and leaned back against the sofa cushions, shaking her head.

"Natalie, you idiot!" Caroline threw up her hands.

Amused, Ava ventured to the recliner and perched on the arm. "What?"

"Stupid _Natalie _is staying with her husband and firing Alejandro the pool boy."

Diane glanced over, serious. "He's very attractive, dear."

Ava grinned widely, chuckling, as she got a shot of "Alejandro". He had the Elvis coiffure going on; all shiny and slicked up with grease. Jeans too tight and caramel skin baby oiled under his unbuttoned shirt. "Wow, Grams," she snorted ", didn't know that was your type."

Diane gave her a narrow sideways look as the show went to commercial, disapproving.

But Caroline smirked. "Guess it runs in the family," she said and Ava knew what was coming next. "So, Ava, why don't you enlighten us. Is it all hype, or are Latin boys the way to go?"

Ava sighed and shook her head, starting to rise from her seat.

"Come on, don't pretend to be all offended," Caroline said with her usual censure. She, of all the people in her life, was the one most determined to treat her like she always had. It was really nice. She grinned. "You've got the inside scoop and us drooling TV fans wanna know just how much of a _natural advantage _Alejandro has."

"Well," Ava relented with a small smile. Her grandmother looked disgruntled. "Just based on personal experience…yeah. The hype is real."

Caroline laughed and clapped her hands. "You nasty ho," she said good naturedly.

Diane, however, had paled and was staring at the TV, avoiding eye contact. She had never liked the thought of Chibs, had liked Happy even less. Ava's fragile good mood broke apart and she rose, heading for the bedroom to resume her tidying. "Have fun with your show," she called over her shoulder, thankful for the escape.

She had been trying to find a place for Juice's shit amongst the chaos of hers and Happy's. They had double closets; two shallow ones on either side of the bathroom door, his and hers. But she again found herself standing in front of Hap's closet, one of his SOA shirts in her hands, unable to disturb his things. So Juice had moved in. So? Did that mean she boxed up Hap's stuff and gave Juice his closet? She had been finding strategic places on the floor of the closet for the Rubbermaid laundry baskets that held Juice's clothes. He only had one pair of boots, but she'd shoved his assorted dress sneakers under the bed.

"Made any progress?" Diane's voice at the door startled her.

Ava turned around, shirt still clutched to her chest, and saw her grandmother standing just inside the bedroom, surveying the mess that was three people consolidated into one space. Two living, one dead, too many lines crossed to make sense of any of it.

"Not really," Ava sighed, plopping down on the edge of her side of the bed.

Diane nodded and turned toward the floor to ceiling bookcase along the wall that flanked the door. Ava knew she studied all the framed photos and sketches. She sighed. "I'm sorry, darling," she said without turning, voice heavy. "This should never have happened to you."

Ava sighed, her sadness heightened by the disapproval. She started to speak, but waited when Diane turned toward her.

She had pulled one of the photos off the shelf and held it against her chest, as if hiding it. She offered a half-hearted smile as she came to the bed. "I mean that, Ava. I know that I've had my…issues…in the past with your father. And your fella. But I'm _so sorry_, sweetheart."

Ava nodded, staring at the shirt in her hands and fighting the urge to erupt into a volcano of tears. Damnit, why did people keep talking about it? It just made things that much harder.

"You know," Diane continued ", I was always too hurt, and too…set in my ways to move on after your grandfather passed."

Ava had never known Alan Lawson. She'd seen his picture, knew he had been Gemma's uncle, but she had no memories of him.

"But I was in my forties and done having babies. I had you and your mother."

Gentle fingers cupped Ava's chin and lifted her head up. Her grandmother was staring down at her with such sadness and sympathy, that for a moment, she had trouble consolidating the visual with the harsh woman she'd always known.

"You'll always love him -,"

"But, Gram, you -,"

"Didn't care for him? Sure. I'll admit to that. But I know how much _you _loved him. How much you still do. But you're young, little girl. And you're beautiful. Don't crawl away and give up."

Ava pulled away, staring at her hands again. How bad were things when Diane – hater of all things SAMCRO – was giving her advice? Telling her to move on. The bed springs squeaked and the mattress dipped as her grandmother sat.

"Here."

Something cool touched her arm and it was the silver-framed picture Diane had pulled off the shelf. It wasn't the one she'd expected as she took it in her hands; not one of the many of her mother or her with Happy. It was Happy and Juice, of all people, the two of them standing in front of her redone truck; a photo taken for posterity's sake. Hap looked stern as always, an arm slung across a smiling Juice's shoulders.

Diane cleared her throat loudly and her tone once more assumed the disdainful nature she always used when she talked about one of the "heathens". "You girls always did have atrocious taste in men. But," she sighed ", at least you have one. You taught me that children need their fathers."

Ava glanced up, startled, pad of one finger pressed to Juice's face in the photo.

"If he wants the job, let him have it."

Wow, Grammie Lawson was giving her the green light on a mohawk wearing, head-tatted biker. What was the world coming to? Ava glanced back at the picture and sighed. Her two boys – one of which she'd always wanted, and one she hadn't asked for.

The landline on the nightstand rang, startling her. Diane gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head. "Machine," she explained. "Just another goddamn creditor."

The beep sounded after three more rings, then her voice, in a chipper _I'm so excited my boyfriend just bought me a house _flurry of excitement asked the caller to leave a message.

"_Hey, baby," _Juice's voice was always smoky over the phone. Her spine stiffened involuntarily. Diane fidgeted with the hem of her top. _"Don't plan on dinner, I wanna go somewhere. 'Kay? Yeah, so…I'll see you at home when I get off in about…three hours."_

It was silent a moment, and then Diane tapped the edge of the picture frame with her nails. "He wants the job."

**-O-**

"You know I love Grammie D," Caroline had to nearly shout to be heard over the radio that was blaring from the kitchen counter. "But she seriously knows how to make house cleaning all work and no play."

At quarter till six, Diane was on her way home and the girls had progressed to the kitchen. Ava was cleaning out the fridge, grimacing at the various stages of mold growth on the veggies, while Caroline unloaded the dishwasher. The gangsta rap made it harder to think, and easier to work, Ava not dwelling, just concentrating on the task in front of her. Still though, even above the music, she could hear the distinctive grumble of a Harley pull up under the carport just outside.

"Ooh," Caroline leaned over and thumbed down the volume dial, plate in hand. "Alejandro's home," she said with a suggestive eyebrow waggle.

Ava snorted. But she still listened for the sounds of his boots coming up the wooden trio of steps.

"Oh, Lord," Caroline muttered. "Really, Ava? This isn't a glass, it's a goddamn Smucker's jar."

"It's made of glass and it holds liquid; ergo, glass."

"You need a trip to Macy's in a major way, chick."

Ava rolled her eyes. Everything in her kitchen was either a hand-me-down, or something she'd found at the Wal-Mart in Sacramento for ninety-nine cents. She didn't entertain, wasn't one of the SAMCRO hospitality spots, and saw no need to spend money she didn't have on matching china she didn't need.

As expected, Juice's boots made a ton of noise coming up the steps and the door squealed when he entered. "Ladies," he greeted. When Ava didn't abandon her reach into the depths of the fridge, she felt his hand on her ass, hating the way her body responded. But she stood and turned around, and he was smiling at her not with just his usual friendliness, but with some other kind of excitement.

"Hi," she said, stepping in to give him the kiss she knew he wanted. For one brief moment, warmth surged through her, the kind that made the gesture feel not so obligatory. But she pulled back, cutting off the flow of…whatever it was…that he seemed to transfer to her when they touched.

"I hate to run you out…" Juice turned to Caroline, half smiling, hand still on Ava's ass. "But -,"

"Yeah, yeah," she kicked the dishwasher shut and wiped her hands on a towel. "I'd never stand in the way of some porn-worthy throw down on the kitchen table." She winked as she collected her purse. "I want the details, though."

Juice sighed in slight embarrassment, rolling his eyes. "We do more than fuck."

"I'm sure. You catch your breath between rounds after all." Caroline laughed at her own joke. "I'm with Mom and Dad through Wednesday, so call me, girl, and we'll tackle the attic one day."

"Thanks, Caro," Ava waved with her fingers as her friend slipped out the back door. Then she sighed, because here she was alone with Juice and she had a feeling porn-worthy kitchen table sex wasn't what had him smiling so widely.

**-O-**

"Shit," Juice winced and pulled the truck door back. Thankfully, the car beside them he'd had to squeeze in next to appeared unharmed from the forceful smack he'd given it with his door. Damn truck was too fucking big. He could park his bike on the sidewalk, but this thing could barely fit into one of the spaces outside the grocery store.

Ava was already on the sidewalk, still looking dull and unhappy about the little adventure. "Did you ding it?"

"No," he smoothed a hand over the Camry's door to make sure, but it seemed okay. He locked the Ford with the remote and joined her. "It's fine."

She shrugged and turned away from him, heading up the walk toward the store without him. Juice frowned as he followed. He'd been excited about this idea up until he'd told her about it. He had known, seeing that couple at the garage, that the thing he'd been trying to find was the lively twenty-one-year-old who still lived in her sex zombie body somewhere. If he could tap back into that side of Ava, things would get better. Things would get normal. But she trudged toward the store listlessly, looking swallowed up by the hooded sweatshirt she wore under her leather jacket. How was it possible that as the baby grew, she seemed to shrink? Juice sighed to himself as he leaned over her to hold the door open.

Charming had two markets; one that specialized in produce, and one that was a grocery store crammed into the square footage of a gas station mini mart. The place was tiny, the aisles narrow and endcaps stocked with odd combinations of things; chapstick and charcoal, Coke and toilet brushes. The place was fairly crowded on a Saturday night; boring couples here to do the same thing they were – grab something frozen for dinner and go home to eat on the couch in front of a movie.

It would be good though, he reminded himself, to do something normal and couple-like that didn't require his pants coming off. Well…maybe later…because he was always up for that…but not now. Now, he had to hit up aisle eight; canned goods and more importantly, _candy. _It was mid October which meant one thing; miniature Kit-Kats. Hell yes.

"What do you wanna eat?" Ava was pulling a shopping basket out of the stack with a grimace. She hated to cook, sucked at it actually. She'd been making a lot of pasta lately since it was easy to prepare and didn't seem to aggravate her morning sickness. Juice could eat anything, so he didn't give a shit.

"Just pick whatever sounds good, babe. I'll catch up in a minute."

"Where're you going?"

"Candy."

**-O-**

Ava wandered the aisles slowly, nothing on the shelves grabbing her attention. When she wasn't curled over the toilet, all she wanted was chocolate chip cookies sprinkled over ice cream. She knew Juice must be tired of her pasta with parmesan and olive oil, but she could think of nothing else as she traipsed past the overcrowded shelves.

She had to admit that what he was doing was sweet. Juice was healthy-normal-relationship guy and though he tried, he didn't quite understand her dark and twisty insides. He may have been a Son, but he didn't want an Old Man, Old Lady relationship. He wanted them to be best friends and lovers, boyfriend and girlfriend, head over heels. Which, if she allowed herself to think it, was what she'd always craved from Happy. So it was with a heavy, heavy heart that she contemplated movie night with Juice.

Damn, what could they eat? A loaf of homestyle onion bread caught her eye and she squeezed it, debating. They could do some kind of sandwich. Chicken? No. Roast beef? No. Maybe…bacon. _Yes. _BLTs without the T, maybe some cheese instead and just a little smear of spicy mustard. That was too much sodium, but this was Hap's kid, no way would Happy's offspring be brought down by too much salt. She added the bread to her basket and went to the long bank of coolers in the back. Bacon, lettuce, and Swiss cheese.

She was trying to decide between barbecue and regular chips when she heard the squeak of rubber soled shoes on tile. Juice was coming toward her at a fast clip, face slightly panicked, arms laden with enough Halloween candy to feed all the trick-or-treaters in Charming twice over.

"We gotta go," he said as he came to a fast halt in front of her. He dumped his bags and bags of miniature candy bars into her basket and she staggered under the sudden weight. He took it from her, setting it on the ground.

"Jesus, Juice how much candy -,"

"We gotta go," he repeated, pulling yet more of the stuff out of his oversize jeans pockets. "Starburst," he said with a quick grin as he flashed the bag at her, but then sobered again. "But seriously, we have got to go."

"Why?"

"Um…there _might _have been an incident."

"With…?"

"An entire display of canned peaches."

Ava sighed. "Did you knock shit over?"

"No!" he shook his head, brows leaping up in wide-eyed earnest. "That shit came outta nowhere. Totally not my fault."

"Did you offer to pick it up?"

He was a terrible liar and his face always did the weirdest things when he thought he was in trouble. His expression was part amused guilt and part _it's okay. _"It was sort of a glass jar situation."

"Juice!"

"What? No one saw me. I don't think…I mean, I hope not…"

"Let's just go before someone figures it out."

He picked up the shopping basket and followed with a loud, no doubt relieved exhale. _God, _Ava thought as she headed for the front of the store. _Could he be more retarded?_ She got her answer halfway to the register when she saw the carnage. Once stacked in a pyramid at the end of an aisle, some twenty odd mason jars of peaches lay shattered on the tile. Glass, peach slices, and all the syrupy goo they jarred them in were splattered out in a ten foot radius. An elderly woman clutched her purse and stared, horrified, at the mess as if she contemplated swimming across the Missouri.

"Oh my God," Ava grabbed Juice's arm. "You did that?"

"Um…" he sighed again ", yeah."

Something about how ashamed he was, about how he was towing her along because he was afraid the manager would ream him out, and about the way that poor little old lady stared at the atrocity – Ava burst into laughter. "Goddamn," she choked. "That's great shit."

**-O-**

"Hurry up! Darry's gay ass is about to fall down the well."

"I think it's a pipe," Ava called back as she pulled two waters out of the fridge and returned to the living room. The lights were out and the TV threw weird, oscillating lights over Juice as she found her spot on the couch again. Their grocery store spoils were spread out on the coffee table, one of her all time favorite horror flicks playing. Juice had known she couldn't resist _Jeepers Creepers _for the eight hundredth time and they'd been making fun of it and stuffing their faces with candy since the opening credits had rolled. "Here," she extended a water towards him. "This is the third scariest scene in the whole thing, so don't ruin it."

"I wanted a beer," he frowned, but accepted the bottle.

"You're already gonna have a sugar seizure or something as is, I don't think adding _beer _to that mix is the smartest of plans," she chuckled.

"Hey, at least I'm not gonna have a _pregnant _sugar seizure."

"I haven't had that much," she protested, kicking at the wrapper litter that was accumulating on the floor. "I've been a good girl."

Juice laughed. "That's rich; you're a _good girl_."

"Are you calling me a whore?"

"No, I'm just saying you might not be so…innocent."

"Just like you _might _have had a _glass jar situation _earlier?"

"I thought this was the third scariest scene," he griped, a smile to his voice. "Shut up and watch it then."

She was quiet for a minute, staring at the movie, thinking less about it and more about who she'd watched it with the last time. It had been Juice. Halloween of her Junior year of high school. When they'd been friends.

"Do you have any more of those little Heath bars?" she asked, glancing sideways at his ghostly profile. He still had a few dark scabs on his face from the fight at the party two weeks before. Guilt twisted in her stomach, making her physically ache over what she'd done to him. He was a sweet boy. A good man.

"Nope." He waved something at her she couldn't make out. "Workin' on these cookies and cream things. Remember those?"

She nodded. "I haven't seen them in ages."

He unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. "I love some white chocolate," he mumbled as he chewed, licking leftover bits off his fingers.

"Obviously," she laughed at the unintended double entendre.

He laughed too when he realized the slip. "See? Dirty mind. Trying to fool me with that 'good girl' shit."

"I know, I know," she sighed, chuckles dying. "I'm a skank. Take it or leave it."

"Duh. Take it."

"There are people who'd disagree with you," she said quietly, no longer amused. Damnit, just when she found herself getting to a more peaceful place in her head, something nasty came back to bite her in the ass.

"What?"

She shook her head, propping an elbow on the arm of the couch and leaning away from him.

Juice sighed. "Hey," his voice became serious and sympathetic. "What's the matter?"

Everything inside her told her to keep her mouth shut. Shaping Juice, taking hold of that rare animal in him, had nothing to do with her personal hangups. Leaning on him for something besides sex was a bad idea. But the words came out anyway, insecurity swelling. "I'm too aggressive. In bed. Aren't I? I like sex too much."

"Well," he thumbed the volume down on the remote. "You do like sex." He coughed a short laugh. "That's for damn sure. But it's not too much." He patted her bare foot. "You know I like the dirty stuff."

"But I don't think I'm supposed to," she admitted. "I mean, I dunno…"

"Ava." The couch cushion shifted under her and she felt Juice's hand, pushing her hair back behind her ear. "What's this about?"

"It's just…" she pulled in a shaky breath, screaming internally at the thought that she was still talking. But those damn words just kept coming. "Hap was my first, my only, and he was…well and I liked…there was this kid, in Sacramento who I almost…and he thought I was a whore." Juice's thumb passed gently across her cheek, but she refused to face him. "I was too forward and I wanted it too rough. And I guess I just realized that I've been doing the same thing with you."

**-O-**

Juice was floored. For starters, that some jackass would dare tell this sexy girl to be _less _enthusiastic in bed, but secondly, because she'd just told him something besides "harder", "deeper", or "faster". She'd brought up Happy, and her past with him, and had shed a pinprick of light on what Juice had always suspected; whatever Hap liked or wanted she had adopted for herself, and Hap had obviously been a maniac in bed. Ava knew no other way, and she was scared now, worried, about how to be with someone else.

"Babe," he wanted to laugh, but sighed instead, turning her face toward him with one curled finger under her chin. "I _love _to fuck. Hands down, best thing to do. _Ever_." This time he did laugh, just a little, and she cracked a smile. "Whoever that douchebag was, he didn't know shit."

She nodded.

"But I don't need you to be a certain way for me." Because he didn't. He didn't want Happy's preprogrammed sexbot; he wanted his girl Ava who wanted _him_. It was selfish, yeah, but it would keep his face from getting rearranged again. And it would keep him from feeling like a desperate pussy. He wanted her to lose her mind…and for it to be because of him, and not some memory.

She pulled away at that comment, frowning. She didn't respond well to tenderness. But she wasn't going to get away with it tonight. As the movie threw pale flashes of light over her porcelain face, he leaned in close, put his lips right to her ear. "You don't have to work so hard for it, though," he whispered. "You know I can do you right." She trembled; he could feel it in the hand that still touched her face. "Make you cum…make you yell…damn, girl, I can go all night. You don't have to worry about keeping me happy, all I gotta do is look at you."

Whatever Hap had used to pass as dirty talk, it hadn't been much, because her head whipped around and her eyes were wide and slightly dazed. _That didn't take long. _And then she was on him; hands tangled up in his shirt, lips meeting his in another of those insane kisses that just didn't stop.

It was easy to get caught up in her, to just lost control and get lost, end up on the floor…but he couldn't do that this time. He had to keep his head – the one up top – in control of all this if he was going to get what he really wanted; put the brakes on this downward spiral he was getting sucked into.

Juice reached up and raked a hand through her hair, and then clamped down, pulling away, holding her back.

**-O-**

What was he doing? And why was he doing it? Ava felt his hand cupping the back of her head, thick finger speared through her hair. His forehead touched hers. She felt his nose on her cheek as his lips barely moved at the corner of her mouth. He held her still, wouldn't let her move, and resisted the violent kiss she wanted to pursue.

"Wait." His voice was heavy with sex. She'd learned that voice over the past weeks; it was different from his normal one but it was anything but breathy and pleading like hers became. "Just wait a sec." Not harsh, but not a request. A command.

She closed her eyes because he was too close to see properly anyway. But she could feel; every tiny movement, every point of contact channeling energy like jumper cables between running engines. Shopping, breaking shit, eating candy, making fun of movies…and now here was this. Ava liked this better, preferred it over the more casual, but far more intimate routine of normalcy. Only Juice wasn't letting the sex happen. He was waiting, holding her to him, but not letting it go as far as she wanted to.

"Juice." She tightened her grip on his shirt, twisting it up in her fists. His heart thudded under her knuckles. Even. Rhythmic. Alive. "What are you -,"

She was grateful to shut up, very glad for it when he kissed her. But it was an easy kiss. Just a taste, lips pulling apart slowly with a wet sound when he retreated again. Ava pulled in a breath to ask him what in the fucking hell he was trying to do to her, but he kissed her again. And then once more pulled away. It was like he was teasing her. Or like he was hesitant – which was impossible – but it felt like a first kiss between careful strangers. Almost like the very first time he'd kissed her years ago. That had been her…very first kiss. With any man.

"Juice -," this time, after he'd pressed their lips together, had teased hers apart and had her reaching for him with craned neck, he smiled. She could feel it against her cheek before he kissed her there too.

"Yeah," his breath tickled against her ear when he spoke. "What's my name, baby?"

Oh, that was bold of the asshole. But a shudder went through her and she nuzzled her face into his neck, seeking any contact he would allow. This was stupid. Just some stupid, macho game he was playing. She was the one who played games with _him_, not vice versa, because he had _no effect _on her. But before she could stop it from slipping past her lips, she'd said his name. "Juice." And it came out like a plea.

He chuckled and it infuriated her. Ava uncurled her fingers, claws ready to shred through his clothes, but he turned her head suddenly and pulled her into yet another kiss. Only this one he held. It was too slow, and too gentle and she hated it…even if it did feel fantastic.

It went on and on; lips and tongues together, and then kisses along her jaw, over her face. His little shadow of scruff prickled at her skin. Lips hovering apart, breath shared. Ava ran her fingertips along his jaw, her eyes closed as she just absorbed the feel, the taste, the everything of him. She was shaking, with what she didn't know, but her arms quivered as she touched his face. There was this warm, pulsating tidal wave of something running though her blood. She was weak. And excited. He kissed her again and she frowned at how tortuous it was, at how much more she wanted but didn't want to give up because this kissing business was doing strange things to her head. She whimpered. It was just the sugar, she told herself. It had nothing to do with him. Just the sugar…

**-O-**

Like an overcome starlet in a black and white movie, Ava went boneless; sagging against him and tipping her head back, completely submissive. She whined and made little quiet sounds against his lips between kisses. This was what he'd been after; the adoration. The passion in her that turned making out on the couch into something that fed her on a whole other plane beyond sex.

Juice pulled back, rested his forehead against hers, kissed the tip of her nose. He couldn't help but grin. Her eyes were closed and her brows were knitted together in concentration. He wondered what memory was spinning through her head. For him, it would always be the one from the afternoon up in Jax's old apartment; that amazed smile of hers that had been so full of trepidation, the way her eyes had skipped over him and she'd nibbled on her bottom lip when he'd taken off his shirt like she'd requested. Her hands, smooth and cool, as she'd touched him with inexperienced question. Only now there was no Bobby banging on the goddamn door and no guilt over being caught.

She almost moaned, sounding as if in pain. Her hand found the side of his face again, cradling. "Juice."

"What, sweetheart?"

"I -," she inhaled sharply. "I…can't breathe."

He raked her fingers down through her hair. "It's okay." She shook her head, arms starting to shake more violently. "Ava, hey, you're alright. Take a deep breath."

"I can't!" She exploded away from him, pushing off his chest. A strand of her hair got caught in one of his rings and she didn't seem to notice, too busy scrambling backward across the couch. Her eyes were wild, darting around the room. She moved until she hit the opposite arm of the sofa and then turned away from him, holding herself around the middle, panting. "I can't breathe," she said again. Her eyes closed and she shook her head. "I can't…I just can't!"

**TBC**


	15. Fallin'

**AN: **Thank you fabulous readers! And thank you to my fabulous brainstorming queen Angie. I don't think I could write this and stay sane without her.

…

**15. Fallin'**

Ava loved when she woke before the alarm; when she had time to slowly become aware of her surroundings, to ease into consciousness rather than be slammed into it headfirst by the blaring wail of the bedside clock radio. The air was cool – an involuntary shudder raced through her – but the body under her was warm and solid, the skin of his chest smooth under her cheek. Ava inhaled and exhaled deeply, twitching her stiff leg where it lay against his hip.

"You awake?" Juice's voice was still groggy, but inviting.

"MmmHmm. What time is it?"

"We've still got fifteen minutes." She heard the rustle of covers and his torso bunched and clenched under her as he pulled the sheet and microfiber comforter up over them.

Ava didn't know why she smiled, but she couldn't stop it. She nuzzled at his collarbone, feeling like some burrowing creature in search of a warm, dry, dark place to curl up and sleep away the next few hours. She replayed the night before in her head. It had been like so many of their nights since her episode on the couch three weeks before. Just…easy. Juice was just so goddamn easy.

"_I can't...I just can't!"_

_It was silent a beat while she struggled to comprehend why she wasn't in physical pain, yet she couldn't get enough air into her lungs. Goddamn sugar, making her crazy, making her dizzy. Juice, fucking Juice had her _wanting _him so badly she couldn't breathe. Her body tingled. She craved…something. Something deeper than the parts of her he could reach with his cock. Something that his damn kiss, of all things, was unleashing in her. It was terrifying, like hurtling through empty space with nowhere to land, and she couldn't breathe._

"_Ava," he broke the quiet, took her wrist in his hand and pulled her arm away from her middle. _

"_No," she protested weakly. She needed her arm there. Needed to hold Sam, to protect him from…whatever the hell she thought was after him. "I can't -,"_

"_Breathe? You said that." Juice pulled her to him and Ava's resistance was laughable. He put her on his lap, straddling him, arms around her waist and holding her in place. "Talk to me, Ava. You told me you needed help, so let me help you."_

_She'd changed her mind. She didn't want help, not his anyway, because his help led to scary, terrifying things. She'd let herself get lulled into a false peace – the movie, the goofing around like old times – and now she was paying for it. What he wanted had come creeping up on her without warning and she didn't know how to fight it when it was this close, when it was leering at her with –_

"_Open your eyes."_

_She did, and it wasn't some fire-breathing dragon she stared down. She blocked the flickering light of the TV and his face was in shadow, the whites of his eyes shining. She knew, without a clear visual, that his expression was pained and confused. She could fight him – this – if he was glaring at her, but Juice wasn't the stuff of nightmares. She didn't know how to combat sweet._

_Ava laid a hand alongside his face and leaned down to kiss him, feeling tears form in the corners of her eyes. "I can't," she whispered as she pulled back a fraction. "I can't love you."_

"_So don't." His hand cupped the back of her head, pulling their lips together again. _

So don't. _She could do that. She could _not _love him. Ava settled against him, still frowning, still hurting, but falling into him nonetheless._

Something – his hand – pushed up the hem of her camisole and then his warm, rough palm smoothed across her stomach. At fifteen weeks, she was starting to have this little swell. Not showing enough for anyone to know she was pregnant; just enough that she looked full over the top of her jeans in the front. Juice was fascinated by it, and rubbed her now. She closed her eyes, sighing, because as much as it freaked her out, it felt oh so nice.

"Don't draw attention to my fatness," she complained, tilting her head back so she could see the underside of his jaw.

He chuckled as he rolled her off of him and onto her back, propping up on his side next to her. He pushed her shirt up further, rubbing across the smooth flat of her belly and then over her tiny beginning of a baby bump. "Sam," he reminded ", not fat."

"Yeah," she sighed. He was watching the movement of his hand and it gave her a chance to study him. To see how damn happy he looked. How could he possibly be? How could he be here, with her miserable self, rubbing her stomach pregnant with another man's baby, and be happy? Goddamn it…she was going to miss him this week.

"What day will you be back?" she asked for the hundredth time.

His eyes lifted to hers and he smiled knowingly, which she hated. "Friday."

Ava sighed. "That's a long time."

"That's four days. I think you can last that long."

He was smirking and Ava frowned, scrunching her nose up, which made him do the same and she thought she'd just combust with overexposure to cute couple-ness. "Yeah, I can last," she meant it to be a biting comeback, pissy that he thought she needed him so badly, but it came out rather pathetic. Pathetic enough that he shifted so he was braced above her on his arms and kissed her. He'd already had a cigarette and tasted like smoke. Ava's hands lifted on instinct; one landing on his shoulder, the other feeling the muscles in his jaw flex as he deepened the kiss. She couldn't help it – she damn sure didn't want to – but she stretched up off the mattress to meet him.

She groaned in frustration when he pulled away. "I gotta get ready," he tilted his head in apology. He looked extra…content…this morning. Eyes smiling. "Sorry, babe, but Jax is gonna chew my ass." He smacked her hip affectionately, slid down her body, leaned down to brush a fast kiss to her stomach – to Sam – and then vaulted off the end of the bed, headed for the bathroom.

Ava lay staring at the ceiling for a moment, a hand over her belly. "Your Uncle Juice is _weird_," she whispered to the baby.

"Hey," Juice called from the doorway and she turned her head. He was brushing his teeth. "You gotta get ready too."

"Ugh, that's right." She lingered a moment, enjoying the feel of the cool morning sheets and the domestic sounds of the tap running and his electric clippers when they fired up. It was normal. It was good. She was okay. At least, that was what she told herself each morning.

**-O-**

"Tara's gonna be in surgery until three, but you can call Mom if you need anything." Jax pulled his eyes away from his two sons who sat Indian style in front of the TV, bowls of Fruit Loops in their laps. Johnny was spilling more than he ate. The SAMCRO Prez gave her a heavy look. "You sure you're up for this, Ava?"

She nodded. "Absolutely."

And then, to add to the insulting way his eyes had assessed her, he turned to Juice with a questioning lift of his brows. "She good?"

Ava folded her arms, retort ready on the end of her tongue, but Juice beat her to it.

"Yeah," he said without hesitation. "She's perfect. She'll do great with the boys."

When Jax gave her one last look, she was glaring at him – and secretly thrilled to hear Juice back her up without question. She was paddling in dark, dangerous waters with all this basking in his support, but it was too warm and inviting to deny herself its comfort. She tilted her head, almost in a dare, and her cousin finally sighed with sagging shoulders.

"A'ight. But you call if things aren't goin' right." He waved a finger at her in warning.

_That's right, point at the crazy person. _Ava sighed too. "It'll be fine, Jax. I've watched them a thousand times before."

He nodded, looking over at his boys again. "You guys mind Ava."

Johnny didn't respond, but Abel flashed his dad a thumbs up.

"C'mon," Jax thumped Juice on the arm.

As they both turned to walk out, Juice caught her around the waist. "Friday," he reminded with a reassuring smile.

Ava laid her palms on his chest, between the open halves of his cut, and felt herself…sag? Lean? Fall? No, she melted to him, for just a moment, but didn't want to recognize the fact; even as her lips opened and kissed him hotly back, not ready when he pulled away.

"Be good," he warned, giving her a light, playful head butt, and then moving away from her, arms sliding from around her and leaving her cold.

She tracked his departure with her eyes, not missing the exasperated look Jax was giving the two of them. When she turned around, the front door closing in their wake, she saw both boys making kissy faces at her. "Oh, grow up," she chastised and Abel burst into a giggle fit.

**-O-**

"It'll just be four days, luv. Won't be long."

"I know." Maggie spared her husband a glance from behind the office computer.

"Well, you could try to act like you'll miss me. Know I'm not so lively as that fuckin' computer -,"

"Bitch, bitch, bitch," she rolled her eyes and stood, leaning across the desk to kiss him. "I love you bunches and I'll miss you terribly. I'll be waiting, naked, and anxious for your return."

"That's all I ask."

Maggie smiled as she sat. "I really will miss you, you ass."

He returned her grin. "Aye. Can't get enough, can ya?"

"Go," she waved him away. "I can only take so much self inflation at once."

He headed for the door, but then turned, face becoming serious. "Ava stayin' with you?"

"No. She's watching the boys for Jax and then she's gonna sleep over with Tara."

"Good." He sighed heavily. "She needs to spend time with other people."

**-O-**

Ava could find little reason to complain about the bare state of the Tellers fridge since she wasn't too big on domestic duty either. Tara had called and asked her to grab some chicken they could bake for dinner. Which was fine, with the exception that the boys had to come with her.

"I want some gummy bears," Johnny said. Again. Ava turned from her inspection of the slightly gray poultry cuts in the cooler and saw the almost four-year-old straining against his brother's grip, staring across the store toward the big display of leftover Halloween candy.

"Mom said no sugar," Ava reminded.

He slapped Abel's hand away from his own. "But I _want _some."

"John-boy," she sighed, continuing with her rummaging. "I want a lot of things, kiddo, but life ain't fair for shit."

"You said a naughty word," he giggled manically.

"Everyone says naughty words," Abel sighed. Bless his heart; Abel was a little Godsend when it came to dealing with his sibling. Ava had always thought it funny that of the two, the boy with the tight-ass doctor for a mother was the terrible one.

"Plus," Ava went on "; I'm not your mom or dad. So I can't get in trouble for corrupting you."

Abel chimed in with a laugh of his own. "But only moms and dads are supposed to kiss like they're eating each others' faces."

He was grinning with shy satisfaction at his point and she popped a brow at him. "Your point being…?"

"Ava and Juice!" Johnny yelled, flinging his arms up theatrically. "Sittin' in a tree! K -,"

"That is _old, _dude. Prehistoric. Might wanna check your insult next time." But it jangled her nerves nonetheless. She thought her hand quivered as she reached for a package of boneless chicken breasts. What was she? Some horny teenager drunk on first love bullshit?

_NO. _It wasn't _love_ and it sure as hell wasn't first anything. She just had a minor problem focusing on anything else when Juice was around. But surely it wasn't bad enough that it warranted kids making fun of her, was it? She sighed. In bed with him that morning – that had been some mushy, sweet shit. Somehow, her plan of taking hold of the beast had turned into him rubbing her growing belly and promising not to be gone too long. Nothing was as it should have been.

"Alright, boys, let's hit up the -," she halted as she turned, because there was only one boy, and not two. "Where's your brother?"

Abel looked startled. "He was right here."

And now there was no sign of him. "Shit. Come on." She took off, panic welling slightly. _Be cool _she told herself. It was a little store and he couldn't have gone far. She headed toward the candy first, Abel following along. "Johnny? Come on, man, let's not do this."

"He's not here," Abel stated the obvious when they reached the aisle that had been the scene of Juice's jarred peaches crime.

"Goddamnit….Johnny!" Ava hastened her step, nearly jogging as she went to the front of the store. "Johnny!"

"Over there." Abel tugged on her sleeve and she whipped her head around to the indicated direction. Sure enough, there was Johnny, standing in front of a strange man, chatting up a storm.

"_John Jackson_!" she called, imitating Tara, charging up to him. He didn't turn around, but the stranger stood from his crouch, smiling.

He was cute in a scruffy sort of way; dark hair and shadow of stubbly beard. Thin. Tight jeans and a thermal long-sleeved tee. His smile was bright.

"I'm sorry," Ava said, taking a firm hold on Johnny's arm. "He's a bit of a handful."

"Ah, it's nothin'. He was keepin' me company. Just glad you found him."

Ava's blood ran cold. This stranger – smiling at her and patting Johnny on top of the head – had an accent. He was Irish. He was _Irish_!

Her mind, like a fortress, went into battle mode. Bridges were drawn, trap doors thrown open, colors run up, horns blasted. _Irish! Irish! _Seattle rain, empty highways, smoking cars, tears, pain, lies. Happy – protecting her, keeping her, fighting for her. Abel and Jax and her poor mother and Gemma and John Teller's secret goddamn kid…this was war. This was the Irish. Adrenaline went shooting through her limbs and it was with preternatural strength that she pulled Johnny around behind her, backing up until she bumped into Abel. Her arm was like a striking snake, diving into her bag, coming back out. And she didn't waver a moment when she lined the sights of her Glock on the Irishman's chest.

**-O-**

Juice double checked his bag one last time and then slipped his arms through the straps, fiddling with it until it rested comfortably between his shoulder blades. He felt like a pack mule; as usual, stuck carrying the extra gear in addition to his own shit. Around him, his brothers were doing last minute sweeps of their bikes, pulling their gloves on, firing up engines. He noticed, with an eye roll, that Jax fished his cell out of his pocket. Tara called more than anyone else's Old Lady. And Jax always answered.

But the President wasn't making smooching sounds into the phone, instead scowling. "Jesus Christ…where are they? Are you…son of a bitch. Yeah. Gimme five minutes."

His outburst had been loud and he now had everyone's attention. Tig killed his engine.

"What?" Opie questioned.

To Juice's surprise, Jax directed his snarl in his direction. "Your psycho girlfriend," he was nearly yelling ", pulled a _gun_ on some guy in the grocery store. Got herself _arrested. _And had my kids along with her!"

**-O-**

Charming PD needed to upgrade their cots. The one upon which Ava was seated had stains that looked older than she was, all of which she tried to avoid by crossing her legs and trying to just sit on one ass cheek. She was alone, which she guessed was a good thing. Though it didn't really matter. She stared at the polymer painted brick wall and listened to the echoes of sounds that came from the mouth of the hallway. They'd taken the boys, her gun, her bag, her keys…hauled away like a common criminal with her hands cuffed together. And now she waited.

Boots and the jangle of metallic things had her ears pricked. But it wasn't a Son. Hale came up to her cell and hooked his arms through the bars, forehead resting against them. "You doing okay?"

She snorted, faced the wall again, and didn't answer.

Hale sighed. "You wanna tell me what you were thinking?"

"Nope."

"Your gun's not registered."

"You know," she shot him a nasty look. "I know I have to be in here, but do I have to endure your company?"

It was thankfully silent a moment and she thought maybe the Chief of police was giving up, but then he cleared his throat quietly. "I can't excuse what you did today…but I'm sorry, Ava. About…what happened…"

"Thanks," she cut him off, tone harsh.

"I know that -,"

She glared him to silence. What the fuck did he know? He didn't know shit about her family and certainly not about her man. Her dead, in the ground, months-gone man who hadn't been there today when she'd needed him. When she was staring into the eyes of an Irishman, she hadn't had her Happy with her. To cling to, to stand behind, to lie in his arms afterward and have him promise to disembowel anyone who dared get near her. She wanted him. She needed him. God…she smoothed a hand over her stomach, his child…she just wanted to close her eyes and fall into a dimension in which her beloved man still lived.

The tightness in her chest that had been at bay for three weeks returned. Panic descended like fog around her; a slow awareness that she wasn't safe and for the first time, there was no one to do anything about it.

Her tremors started as a little chill, like she was too cold, but quickly progressed to full on shakes. She clasped her hands together and stared at them. Happy was gone…Happy was gone…her protector, her lover, her everything…and he was gone…

"Where is she?" Jax's voice broke through the rumble of voices beyond the hall.

Ava stiffened, shaking even harder, now with grief _and_ anger. When he came into view, his Reaper Crew hat on backwards, Jax looked furious. She was so focused on the pissed strut of his walk that it took her a moment to notice that Juice followed him.

Hale unlocked her cell and stepped back. "The guy didn't press charges," he told her ",but you're still looking at concealed weapon charges. You're free to go though."

She folded her arms and said nothing as he left, though she knew the Chief had talked down the possible public threat offenses. He left the cell door open, a very upset Jax standing on the threshold. It was silent only a moment, one in which Ava avoided making eye contact with Juice who lurked off to the side. And then finally, Jax exploded.

"What in the _fuck _is wrong with you? Huh? Are you outta your goddamn mind?"

"Jax, I -,"

"Save it! You had one thing to do, one goddamn thing, and you just couldn't keep the crazy in for a few hours? You were with my _kids_, Ava. _My kids. _That guy was a tourist, he wasn't IRA, and you flipped your shit for no reason."

"But Johnny was -,"

"Shut up!" He was red in the face, veins popping in his neck. "Shut the fuck up! You don't get to talk here. You put my boys in danger because you're too fuckin' crazy to even go to the goddamn store!"

She curled her fingers, nails biting into the tops of her thighs through her leggings. And all she could do was take the verbal beating. Because Jax was the President of SAMCRO and she'd gotten arrested while out with his children.

He didn't calm, but seemed to become more riled when she looked away. He took a threatening step into the cell. "You won't _ever _put another member of this family in danger because of your hangups. Hap died months ago…snap out of it. Maybe you don't give a shit about _your own _kid -,"

Her head snapped up the same instant she heard the clap of a hand on leather. "Hey." Juice was holding Jax's shoulder; not hard, but enough to garner his attention. "She didn't mean it." His eyes weren't wide like she would have expected, not freaked to have questioned authority. They were narrow, dark, serious. Jax looked taken aback, anger now redirected, but Juice just shook his head, lips pursed. "You shouldn't…don't talk about the kid…she didn't mean for any of this to happen and you know it."

Ava wondered, for one painfully silent moment, if they'd go at it. Or, more like Jax would go at it. His hands clenched at his sides. "Don't defend her psychotic bullshit," he leaned down in his face. "You want her to be your Old Lady, you learn to control her. I don't care how obsessed you are with her pussy; get your head outta your ass," he pointed at Juice ", and _fix _her," pointed at Ava.

Juice's serious face hardened into an outright glare. "She's _grieving_, Jax. And if you'll remember, she's been hunted by the goddamn Irish her whole life. She's _not _crazy and my head ain't anywhere near my ass. But she _is _my Old Lady…so you need to back off."

Jax was honestly, truly shocked. He recoiled slightly, snorting, and finally shook his head. "Stupid shithead," he muttered. "She is your problem, and she won't be mine, or anyone else's problem again, we clear?"

Juice nodded, but his jaw was set. It was an agreement for now, but not a concession. Jax had proved his point, but not won the argument. The President stalked off in a huff, and Juice lingered, resting a shoulder against the door of the cell and looking down at her with soft eyes. "You okay?"

She shook her head. "Just…take me home."

**-O-**

Juice didn't know if she cried, but she trembled the whole way to the house, her body a quivering live wire against his back. Her arms were banded so tightly around him that it was almost uncomfortable, but he would never tell her that. She needed it – the closeness, the sense of security.

He was surprised, therefore, that she disengaged and slid off the back of the Dyna the moment he pulled into the drive. She had her helmet off and was already walking toward the house, leaving him to scramble after her. "Ava."

She didn't answer and he jogged a step, catching her as she fitted the key into the back door. "Hey." He put a hand on the door above the knob, stopping her. When she turned to look at him, her face was pale, lips pressed together. Her eyes were wild and disconnected. Skipping over his face but not seeing him. Flat. "It's _okay. _Jax is Prez, but I'm not gonna let him be an ass to my Ol -,"

"It's fine." She turned away and rotated the key, waiting for him to move. Which he didn't. She shook visibly, free arm wrapped around her middle. But she didn't look at him. And she was anything but fine.

"I have to get on the road, but maybe you should call your mom, or Lyla, or -,"

"No," she shook her head. "What I need…is dead." And then with painful slowness, she turned to him, tears running in clean streaks down her face. And then he swore he heard his ears ringing as every last step of progress was obliterated with a handful of words. "I need Hap. I _need _him."

He stood, fixed to the spot, as she slipped into the house. He heard the lock turn again. And then he walked slowly back to his bike, feeling like his stomach was falling out of his feet. She needed Hap…and he wasn't him.

**TBC**


	16. Terrified

**16. Terrified**

Ava sat on the couch until the shadows grew long across the carpet, waiting for something that wasn't coming, wishing for a peace she couldn't find. She had checked every door, every window, flipped all the locks, pulled the spare key from its hiding place under an overturned and chipped flower pot. Her gun had been confiscated, but one of Hap's .45s sat on the coffee table. The fridge hummed. The house creaked. And she was completely alone save the harsh memory of Jax's words.

Her senses were alert to even the tiniest disturbance, so she heard the sound of the engine in the drive before the car door slammed. High heeled boots had a way of sounding like gunshots on pavement, so she knew there could only be one of two people coming through the carport and up her back steps. The tonal quality of the knock answered her question – loud and confident – Gemma.

Ava waited a moment, breath catching as dread curled up tight like a fist in her chest. Jax's outburst had been heated, but childish at best, a reverting back to his post-Abel-snatching petulance. But Gemma's impending wrath would be far more concise and far more hurtful. Finally, after two more knocks, Ava unfolded her stiff legs and went to the back door.

Gemma had her shades in her hand, looking ten feet tall in her boots and long suede duster. Her face wasn't the angry thunderhead Ava had expected though. "Hey, baby," she stepped in and pulled her into a hug before she could protest. "You doin' okay?"

Ava was shocked and the Queen must have felt it in the stiff way her arms half-closed around her in a return hug. Gemma pushed her back a step, hands on her arms, and tilted her head. Adamant about whatever point she was going to push across. "You tried to protect my grandsons today. Kinda showy…but they'd have needed a body bag by the time _I _was done with him. You did the right thing, baby."

But that did nothing to lift her spirits. Ava glanced away, shaking her head. "Jax _hates _me, I'm sure Tara does too. I'm so sorry, Gem -,"

"Hey, Jax can get over it. Irishman walked up to him, he'd do the same thing and he knows it."

"No, he's right," she pulled away, going to a kitchen chair and plopping down into it. "I'm bat shit crazy."

"You're a Lawson," Gemma sighed, settling into the chair across from her. "We're all a little…"

"Crazy."

"Yeah." Gemma gave her a knowing look. "And I'm guessing this was only half about the Irish anyway."

Ava picked at her flaking silver nail polish and hated her cousin's powers of perception. "I know that guy was just some tourist," she said quietly. "But I've never been in danger before and not had Hap there. I don't know how to…_be_…anymore." She glanced up. "That time, on the way to Fresno…Gem, I almost shot that guy today. I almost killed him."

"Yeah, and that had nothing to do with Happy."

She shook her head.

"What did Juice say?"

"He was his usual sweet self. He has no idea."

Gemma snorted. "No idea of what? That you've got no problem with lethal force?" She raised her brows. "Sweetie, neither does he. You think with all the time you two spend naked he hasn't seen those tats? That he doesn't know what that means? You were with Happy, _everyone_ knows what that means."

The now-familiar tightness in her chest returned, like she was being squeezed. Or like when Juice stayed on top of her, panting, and pressing her down into the mattress. _Stop! Stop thinking about him! _But the image had popped into her head, she felt his phantom weight crushing her now…and wanted it. Her unintended addiction.

"Ava, I know he's not your _killa_, but Juice would kill too. Protect his family…what he loves…every man in the world would fight to the death for what was precious to him. You want that killer side to come out, _you_ gotta be what's precious to him."

Ava met her gaze and Gemma was all business now, her dark eyes serious. "I know what you did at the party that night. And that shit? Not smart."

"I know," she groaned, slumping with her chin propped on a loose fist.

"Most would have bailed on you after that."

"I know."

"He loves you, Ava."

She closed her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat. Yes, he did. She knew that – the smiles, the kisses, the open displays of affection she'd long ago given up on. She didn't know why, or how, in such a short span, but he did.

"What you say," Gemma pressed ", doesn't have to leave this room. But you can't bottle this up anymore. We face shit in this family."

Ava nodded.

"I want the truth," there was a warning to her words. "No more bullshit."

Again, she nodded.

"Do you love him?"

That morning, before her day had gone to hell, in bed with him, she had awakened knowing who it was. Had wanted to be there, glad for the comfort. Content. He was good to her, so supportive of Sam…the tightness turned into a sob, lodging in her throat, tears springing up in her eyes. She clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the crying jag before it got started, but it was too late. She knew. Tears or no, she had her answer.

"Yes," she said in a choked whisper.

Gemma nodded, satisfied for the moment. She dug a cigarette out of her purse and lit up while Ava pulled herself together. She was shaking now. Even if she didn't cry, she was racked with uncontrollable tremors at her revelation. It was true though, even if her chest ached, and she couldn't take back what she'd said.

"I know," Gemma said on an exhale of smoke ", that you're not ready to tell him that, but you need to _know _it, Ava. Because love…you can't fight that. And if he's gonna stick around, it's time to rein in all the Lawson crazy inside you. If you can't be his Old Lady, can't love him back, he'll be gone. And then where will you be?"

Ava stiffened. She hadn't thought of that. "I don't want him to go…I want him here…but it's like I can't find a place for him," she put a hand over her chest. "I just hurt too much, Gem."

"Trust me, sweetheart. It's better to hurt in the arms of another man than to hurt all alone."

**-O-**

Riding in formation, the sun winked off the helmets and bikes of the brothers in front of him. An autumn sunset was exploding along the horizon over his shoulder; fantastic oranges, reds, and somehow hints of midnight purple swirled in with clean delineations of color. Goddamn purple…Ava's favorite color was powder blue, but because Happy had told her once she looked good in purple, the color dominated her lingerie collection. Purple nail polish. Purple socks. She looked damn cute in it, it was true, but those little swirls of purple in the sky were enough to remind Juice again that Hap's ghost still lived within the girl. Haunted her. And because of it, he was never going to be enough.

He twisted the throttle as they crested the next hill. Below them, the maze of warehouse property beckoned. He was frustrated with no one on which to lay the blame. Adrenaline bubbled through his veins. He wasn't like Happy. Yeah, like hell he wasn't.

**-O-**

"Tara," Ava started with a shaky voice. "I'm so so -," she was cut off as Johnny lunged around his mother and plastered himself to her legs.

"Hi, Ava! You're not in jail?"

"It's fine," Tara laid a hand on her arm. "Not your smartest decision ever, but you know Jax, always with the drama. I'm not mad."

She leaned down and hugged Johnny back, relieved.

"Besides," Tara chuckled. "They talked all afternoon about getting to ride in a police car."

**-O-**

"What happened?" Chibs heard Jax demand as he approached the small crowd that had gathered beneath the street light. They were about a quarter mile from the scene, but still not far enough away – another ways to go until they reached their bikes.

He put a hand on Tux's shoulder, moving him to the side so he could catch a look at whatever had his brothers so interested. The faces around him were an odd mix of curious and disgusted, and he realized why when he saw Juice.

The intelligence officer was seated on the curb, staring at the ground. His arms rested on his knees and his hands were palms up, the light spilling down and glinting off the fresh, wet blood that covered them. It was on his face. On his arms. Staining his shirt. His boots. He was covered, streaked crimson all over.

"Jesus Christ," Chibs pushed through the others, already wondering how the kid was still sitting upright if he'd lost that much blood. Shit, that's just what he needed, go home and tell Ava her new Old Man had kicked off too.

Tig's hand on his arm stopped him. The Sgt at Arms shook his head. "The blood," he said quietly ", not his."

**-O-**

At two in the morning, the room was dark. Hell, the whole house was dark. And silent save for odd little noises that only heightened Ava's anxiety. Tara had offered for her to stay over. Maggie had come for dinner, but she'd wanted to be alone. So now here she was, alone, and nowhere close to sleep.

She rolled onto her other side with a loud sigh, shifting and trying to find a comfortable position. But it didn't work. She'd gotten in the habit of laying an arm across Juice's chest, propping her bent knee on his hip, and now her arms felt empty and too close together. She was cold, even under the covers. Without his REM cycle snoring, there was nothing to cover the creaks and pops of the house that had the fine hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. And while awake, Gemma's words came back to her.

_If you can't be his Old Lady, can't love him back, he'll be gone._

And she would stay alone.

_Trust me, sweetheart. It's better to hurt in the arms of another man than to hurt all alone._

And after all, she did…she did…

_Because love…you can't fight that._

She rolled over again, facing his empty side of the bed, and pulled his pillow under her arm, pressed her face to it. It smelled like him – the shaving cream he used on his head, his cologne, the natural scent that was his skin. Ava closed her eyes and prayed for the week to go by quickly. Because she wanted Juice to come home.

**-O-**

Wednesday morning saw Ava eating Honey Nut Cheerios on the couch, alone, staring blindly at the TV. She'd had two sleepless nights, one mindless day of helping Maggie at the office and tidying the house. She stirred the dry cereal with a sigh. She had wondered, might have even hoped, but Juice hadn't called her. Hadn't even texted. She sat now, chewing, wondering. Was he mad at her? Disappointed? Or did he not give a fuck?

"_I don't want him to go…I want him here…but it's like I can't find a place for him,"_ she'd told Gemma. So often, pretty much all the time, it felt like her heart was being overloaded. There were moments, at the height of ecstasy, when she pulled back from a kiss and his eyes swallowed her up, that she was deeply, desperately bonded to him. And that girlish flutter of butterfly wings would kick start in her chest and she would think that she could just kiss him for hours. But then, caught unaware with her walls down and heart laid out on the operating table like that, Happy would come crashing through the fragile, trembling love she was cultivating for Juice. And then it was like being caught, like her Old Man was live and well and had walked in on the two of them in bed. Her memories of Hap, her grief, her insane, unwavering, incomprehensible love for him would overcrowd whatever Juice was to her. It was confusing. It was painful. And there wasn't enough room for Juice.

She dumped the rest of her breakfast in the trash and padded down the hall in her sock feet, to the laundry closet to pull the clean sheets out of the dryer. She remade the bed, smoothing the sheets until there wasn't one wrinkle present. Fluffed the pillows until they were lump free. Then she moved on to the rest of the room. There were more empty beer bottles and an overflowing ashtray on Juice's…Hap's…no, _Juice's _nightstand. Her desk and the bookshelf needed dusting.

She was shoving a pair of his Reeboks back under the bed when she froze, a sudden, frightening thought overtaking her. Did she dare? She got back to her feet, his sneakers held with her fingers hooked into the tongues, and stared at Hap's closet door for a long moment.

"_Make room, baby," _Gemma had told her. _"You might have to rearrange some shit, but he _will_ fit in there with what you feel for Hap."_

Slowly, she opened the sliding, mirrored door, and started pulling Hap's jeans off the hangers.

**-O-**

"Did you shred the files I pulled yesterday?"

"Yes," Ava shifted her head so that it wasn't buried in her folded arms. "Before lunch." She felt her mother's touch on the back of her head, straightening her hair. It was Thursday and here she sat, across the desk from Maggie, head laid down on the stack of invoices she was supposed to be sorting. Totally pathetic.

"Are you gonna eat your cake?"

She reached for the paper plate of chocolate cake and jammed the fork down into the center of the piece, but left it. Hungry, but not wanting chocolate. Not at the moment anyway. "No."

"Are you gonna sit there like an automaton all afternoon? Or do you think you might actually tell me what's going on in that scary little head of yours?"

Ava pushed up to a proper sitting position, tucking her hair behind her ears. She was ashamed to admit what she was about to, but it had been nagging at her since the afternoon before. "He hasn't called. Not once. I cleaned out…his closet…and he hasn't called."

Maggie sat back in her chair, pulled her reading glasses off. "You _cleaned out _the closet?"

Ava turned and stared out the open door, watching the mechanics mill around in the parking lot. "Yeah."

"Baby, sometimes they just don't call. Hey, no news is good news. If something had gone wrong, we would have heard about it."

"I know," she conceded. Because she did know. If her phone had awakened her in the dead of night – or, not awakened her, as it were – her first reaction would have been pure terror that one of the guys was calling to tell her to get out the little black dress again because she had another funeral to go to. But worry wasn't the only thing that caused her to slump dead over her mom's desk. "I miss him," she admitted.

Maggie sighed. "You freaked out on him, didn't you? Before he left."

"I needed Hap," she said with a shrug.

"No, you needed a man, one who cares about you, to ease your mind about the whole thing after Jax's pompous ass yelled at you," she corrected, sounding peeved. "Which, I love ya, babe, but open your eyes, you have that."

"Gemma and I already had this conversation. I get it, okay? I fucked up."

Maggie sat, thoughtful for a moment, tapping a pen against the rim of the purple Lakers mug she kept her writing utensils in. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Try to talk to him. Try to fix it…if that's possible." She shoved her hair back with an aggravated gesture. "I have no fucking clue what I'm doing, Mom."

"Oh, shit."

Ava narrowed her eyes.

"No, it's just, I forget sometimes." She tilted her head and offered a half smile. "You've never had a real relationship before."

"I have too!"

"No, baby," Maggie sighed. "Happy adored you, don't get me wrong, but he let you stay a kid. Which, God bless him, you weren't ready to grow up all the way yet."

The flare of anger was instant, the tears already burning as Ava grabbed the arms of the chair and started to stand.

"Wait! Just, wait a sec, goddamnit," Maggie smacked a palm on the desk. "I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm your mother, and I'm trying to help you." She sighed. "If you can't listen to this, how are you gonna make it work with Juice?"

The painful truth of the statement hit her hard. Ava sat again, breath leaving her in a rush. She had a hair trigger now, and Maggie was right; she had to get it under control or else all this missing she was doing would mean nothing. "Sorry," she said ", I just get -,"

"I know you do. I know. Just, hear me out, okay?"

**-O-**

Chibs stared down at the contents of his mug – courtesy of the Oregon charter's queen bee Nan – and debated just how attached he was to the un-steeped, lukewarm tea.

"Jax said fifteen minutes," Opie reminded him.

"I know," the Scot sighed, again glancing down at the sleeping idiot that lay sprawled across the rug over in front of the big overstuffed chair in the corner of the clubhouse. The redhead, one strap of her translucent lace bra sliding down her arm, thong still in place, lay on her back beside him and had to be Juice's age at the very least, though Father Time obviously wasn't being as kind to her as he was to the snoring biker who'd fucked her on the floor. "What do ya think?" Chibs asked.

Opie snorted. "Do it."

"Aye." And Chibs tipped his mug sideways, slopping his tea all over Juice's naked back.

He'd been different the past few days, ever since he'd haltingly told them what he'd done to the bitch-ass Mayan dealer who'd popped off a couple of rounds and then made a run for it. He'd been quiet, serious, hitting the hooch and the hoes hard over the nights they'd spent with the Oregon charter. There had been an intensity and a recklessness they'd all rarely seen in his normally dorky demeanor.

He came awake with a start now, jacking up on his arms, yelling like he'd been dumped off the side of a ship into icy water. It startled the girl – woman – and she bolted upright, head whipping around, disoriented.

Opie was having a hard time keeping his laughter in check and turned around, slugging Chibs lightly in the shoulder. "Good luck with that, _Da_."

"Yeah," he snorted ", thanks." He toed Juice hard in the ribs, earning a curse. "Time to head out, Juicy-boy. And I hope you had everythin' _covered _last night. I love ya, kid, but you ain't gonna take shit home and put it in my pregnant daughter."

**-O-**

It was going to be a good day. Ava was sure of it. For the very first time since the funeral, she was looking forward to something. By three, she'd made the rounds, checking in with Maggie and Tara and Gemma and ensuring them that she was breathing, conscious, and not about to take a knife to her wrists. She had done her makeup with a care she hadn't known in weeks; dabbed silver eyeshadow along her cheekbones and put on a triple coat of mascara. Used her fingers and a dollop of styling cream to tousle her hair into big, shiny coils. Dressed in an old, loose pair of jeans riddled with holes and frayed edges; topping it off with a thin, clingy blue long sleeve tee with a plunging neckline. Her stomach wasn't perfectly flat anymore, and it showed, but Juice had been so sweet about it she figured he wouldn't care.

Sweet. Damn, she hoped he was still sweet to her. Four days and no call? He must hate her. She was trembling slightly as she laid out the cookbook on the kitchen counter and rolled up her sleeves. She just didn't know what she'd do if he hated her.

**-O-**

Juice felt the hollow stirrings of guilt as he shut his bike off in Ava's drive. His drive too, he guessed. His drive…yeah. Shit. He lived here. With her. Monday, when she'd told him she'd _needed _Happy, his disappointment had slowly warped into something else – something dark that was akin to what he'd felt that night in the ring with that asshole from Utah. He remembered little of the last few days. Snatches of images, but knew that there had been that bloody Mexican. And women. Now he remembered the look in her eyes when she'd told him about needing Hap and the guilt angered him. Did she think Hap was the only one capable of hurting people? Of protecting something he cared about? She was so fucking naïve.

He felt his jaw clench as he unlocked the back door. Her truck was here which meant he'd find her inside, probably curled up and miserable on the couch. Pining after goddamn Happy. He knew his anger wasn't really anger, but hurt. Pain that he was so invested and she didn't give a shit. But acknowledging that made him feel like a sad pussy, so he went with anger. Hell, she liked anger. Throw her down, face down ass up, do her like a dog, she'd welcome that. Fuck Hap, he could lay it down with the best of them. Yeah, when she came tonight, it'd be his name muffled in the pillows.

But then he opened the door, and there she was.

Ava's hair was smooth, shiny and lightly curled at the ends. Her makeup was flawless. She was pulling something that smelled, not just like food, but like good food out of the oven. Holey jeans and a shirt that was the exact shade of powder blue he knew was her favorite. It was a roast – beef – he could smell it, and she turned to him once it was sitting on the stovetop, pulling her oven mitts off.

"Hey!" her voice was excited, just like he'd expect from a delighted girl her age. She smiled and it was the truest expression he'd seen from her since the funeral.

The guilt expanded in him, pushing out the anger completely. He'd been with other women. Had been resentful toward her in his head. And here she was; beautiful, smiling…he'd missed her. She wasn't some slut playing with his mind; she was hurting, would always, and he'd cheated on her just because she'd had a bad day and had reverted back into her Happy-dependent shell.

"Hi," some of her eagerness dimmed when he just stood there. She approached him, becoming almost timid, reached to smooth her palm down his chest between the halves of his cut. Her eyes followed the path of her touch a moment, then flicked to his, deep brown and full of question. "I missed you," she said carefully. "You didn't call."

"I didn't know you wanted me to."

Her head tilted sideways, lips opening with a quiet sigh. "I did." Her hand flexed and the tips of her fingers scratched at him through his shirt. "I really did."

He intended to be gentle, but the moment his hand slipped into the silky tresses of hair at the back of her head, propriety went out the window. He pulled her lips up to his, forcing her up on her toes as he put his other hand on her hip and backed her up until she hit the edge of the counter.

Her thankful moan hurried him along. Her lips were sweet; cherry chapstick and the sticky glaze she put over it. She opened her mouth, welcomed him, arms going around his neck. Never overconfident in her abilities, still touched with a wonder that was the product of her youth, she was amorous. Wanted to feel alive. There was nothing of the cocky, overused sweetbutts about her as she dug her nails into the back of his neck and stretched to meet him. Here he'd gone on a literal rampage, pissed at the whole situation, and the poor little thing had been missing him.

He picked her up easily and set her on the counter. His hands were at the button of her jeans, breathing a crazed rhythm against her collar bone, when she squeezed his shoulders.

"Juice…wait. Just…wait a second."

**-O-**

His shoulders felt strong and solid under her hands, even through his cut and sweatshirt. His eyes were huge and dark, alight with an intensity she hadn't ever seen before she'd slept with him. He was different in this situation, when he was _with _her, not the bumbling idiot some of the guys made him out to be. When he glanced up at her, questioning, fingers sliding under the hem of her shirt and teasing across her stomach, it was hard to keep her focus. But as much as she wanted their bodies to collide with whatever kind of fury he'd brought home with him, she knew that Gemma and her mother had been right. That it was time to actually talk about some things.

"I have something I need to tell you," she thought her voice sounded weak. She traced the ridge of his cheek with her thumb and he nodded. "I don't know if I can say it right, but I'm gonna try."

He pushed her thighs further apart, pulled her to the very edge on the laminate countertop so that her legs were around him, but that was all, rubbing the juncture where her legs met her hips with his thumbs and nodding. "Okay."

"I…" a million thoughts and feelings came surging up in her throat and she took a deep breath, stalling. She had to get it just right. There would be only one chance to convey the message she needed to. "You're so good to me," she finally said. "I don't know how you put up with my bullshit."

"Baby -,"

"Please." She traced his cheek with her thumb, felt her brows crinkle up as she struggled to put everything in mental order. "I've never…I don't…do this well."

His smile was slow and it was obvious that she'd revealed more than intended with her plea. She wasn't used to talking about her feelings – saying more than "I love you" – because Happy had always been so closed off. Well, if one admittance earned her a smile…

"Juice, I have no idea what I'm doing. We moved _so _fast."

His smile slipped.

Goddamnit, why was this so difficult? "It's not that I don't…damn. Sometimes, Juice, sometimes I forget all the bad shit. Just for a moment. And I'm with you and you make me feel so good."

His smile returned with a cocky twist.

"But then it comes back and I just want to die. I loved him – _love _him – God, you have no idea."

"I have _some _idea," he said, sighing. "Watching you hurt. I've been here, Ava, for all of it."

"I know, I know." She closed her eyes a moment, putting both hands on his shoulders again and squeezing. When she looked at him again, she found his eyes, the same dark brown as Hap's had been, and pulled in a strengthening breath, finding that inner Gemma she'd always needed for those rare conversation with her Old Man in which she'd stood up for herself. "It's coming, Juice. I'm trying to make room, trying to find a place to balance it, because it's coming so fast it makes my head spin."

His brows knitted together. "What's coming?"

She lifted a hand and flattened it over her chest, staring at him, willing him to understand.

"Oh…"

Ava sighed. "I'm gonna try to rein in my crazy, but I can't guarantee anything. I guess I'm asking you to be patient with me. Please. Because this," she motioned between them ", us. I want it. I want _you_."

It was so still a moment, so quiet, that Ava wondered if she'd actually said the words aloud. He glanced down, looking at the hand that had worked its way under her shirt. He stroked her left hip – the two smiley face tats Happy had inked into her skin. "You killed for him," he said matter-of-factly. His head lifted, face blank. "And he killed for you."

Her breath caught, curious, but not sure of his meaning. "Yes."

"I want it too." His eyes bored into hers. "Us."

Ava leaned down, hoping for a kiss when his hand spread across her lower belly, fingers sliding beneath the waistband of her jeans.

"I can keep you safe," his words were meant to be persuasive, low and throaty. "Both of you." She rested her forehead against his, nodding, ready to just fall into all the "safe" he had to offer at the moment. Warmth surged through her at the inclusion of Sam. She was a package deal…and he knew it. His voice dropped to a rough whisper. "Hap's not the only one who knows how to kill."

It felt like her internal temperature spiked, like everything inside her melted in one nuclear flash. And at the same time, adrenaline flooded her system. Her arms tightened around him and whatever she had intended to say turned into a whimper before she kissed him. It was sweet and slow, but laced with a promise of sweaty, writhing bodies on top of soaked sheets. His hands were fast climbing up the inside of her shirt and he was working the clasp of her bra before she finally pushed back, logic taking hold for once.

"I made dinner," she said, breathless, running her palm back across his mohawk. "I don't think it'll give us food poisoning."

He was breathing hard too, but grinned. His first real, million watt grin since he'd gotten home. "Yeah. Let's eat." He leaned in and kissed her neck, scraped her skin with his teeth. "Then I wanna find out how much you missed me."

**-O-**

Juice woke first the next morning, on his back, head rolled sideways on the pillow. Beside him, Ava still lay on her stomach, the sheet pulled down so it barely covered the top of her cute little ass; her lean, smooth back with its graceful countours on display in the morning sunlight. Also visible, though, was Happy's name in black script.

Juice knew why he'd put it there; going at her from behind it was painfully visible, on display to reinforce the ownership of her Old Man. A turn on for Hap; something for Juice to deal with. But she'd loved him, had thought she'd be with him forever. It was okay. Her past would always be a part of her.

He was tempted to call in sick, stay in bed with her. She slept soundly, hair falling half over her face, making quiet cooing sounds every so often like a happy little dove. But instead of running his hand down her spine like he wanted to, waking her up, he pulled the sheet to her shoulders and slipped out of bed.

After his normal routine, he went to the closet where his things still rested in bags and baskets on the floor and slid the mirrored door open. Only there were no Rubbermaid baskets of wrinkled t-shirts. His sneakers were lined up neatly on the floor, his belts coiled and set on the little shelf up top. All of clothes – shirts, jeans, jackets and hooded sweatshirts – were hung neatly on the rack. None of Hap's things remained.

"Damn," he muttered.

"I cleaned it out," Ava said behind him and he looked over his shoulder. She was propped up on her elbows, watching him carefully, almost like she was nervous. "You like?"

He grinned. "Yeah."

**TBC**


	17. We Weren't Crazy

**AN: **I have knowingly stretched the facts that were hinted at in "Fearless" about Ava and Juice's past. This story needed that stretching though.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own or mean any disrespect toward Harlequin publishing and any of its represented authors or titles.

…

**17. We Weren't Crazy**

"Oh. Shit. I always had my suspicions…"

Juice swiveled around in the chair situated in front of his "office" and found Tig holding the paperback he'd left on the desk.

"_Mistress of the Underground_?" Tig questioned, curling his lip up and chuckling at the same time. "Ava so crazy she finally pushed you outta the closet?"

"Gimme that," Juice snatched the book away, hiding it under a stack of Windows operating manuals. He clicked his computer mouse, expanding the browser he'd pulled up on screen. "It's for Ava. Looking for jobs."

"And you're what? Her gay little assistant now?"

"No," he sighed. "Look, I found her stash of trashy romance novels under the bed - ,"

"And you wanted a little sex education."

" – and in the back covers, there were all these publisher websites."

"You idiot, you looked _inside _the book? This is not helping your case."

"Why do I even try?" he mumbled to himself, going back to his computer.

Tig's hand landed on his shoulder. "If you wanted to know how it works, you coulda just asked."

"Fuck you, Tig."

"Easy, Tigger," Bobby admonished from somewhere behind them. "You really wanna rattle that one's cage right now? Did you not see all the ood-bla?"

"Pig Latin, Bobby?" Juice asked over his shoulder. "I'm right here."

Footsteps shuffled over the hardwood. "What are you lookin' at? Goddamn…_Harlequin Romance_?"

This had seemed like such a good plan in his head. Keyword being _in _where others couldn't see it. He'd had to at least flip through the damn thing; what did a girl need with damn near a thousand books about vampire sex? With all these Fabio types on the cover no less. Really? Was it that good? He'd caught the word "loins" on a quick pass through and he'd been done with the shit, ready to chuck it back under the bed, but the bold print inside the back cover had caught his attention. Harlequin was looking for new talent to write paranormal online novellas. Ava could so do that. Cash was getting tight and she needed a job – this one provided from the comfort of her couch.

But now, with Tig and Bobby over his shoulders, this idea was really fucking bad.

"It's for Ava," Tig explained happily. "He thought he would…" he read off the website "…'become the sensuous devil of her'…oh, shit!" He burst into laughter.

"Juice," Bobby was serious. "Um…._what_?"

The clubhouse door opened and closed with a thump. "Hey," Opie started ", what're you lookin' at?"

"Porn!" Juice shouted, flinging up his hands. "I'm looking at porn."

**-O-**

"So, wait. I thought Alejandro was totally in love with Natalie. She dumps her husband, and now he's with Claire? Damn, he's hit a cougar gold mine with this pool cleaning gig."

"Welcome to the fabulous world of soaps," Caroline said, leaning down off the couch to dip into the popcorn bowl. "Everyone fucks everyone."

"Wow." Ava slid further down so that her head was resting on the couch cushion. Her ass was starting to get numb sitting on the floor like this. "Sounds like my family."

Her friend snorted. "You've got your standard silver not-so-foxes. The kids. The sultry housewives. And more importantly," she waggled her brows ", steamy pool boys!"

Ava couldn't help but laugh. In part because it was true – her family was a lot like a soap opera. And also because now she had a mental image of Juice in Hawaiian print swim trunks fishing leaves out of a pool with that big net on a pole. "So true," she said with a chuckle.

"How are things going?" Caroline asked more seriously. "With Juice."

She frowned a moment. "Really well. Which, honestly, doesn't seem possible."

Caroline sighed. "Ava, you have got to stop with all the doubting bullshit. I should not have to tell you how damn wonderful a thing you have with him. He is like dreamboat, Prince Charming material."

"I know, I know," she waved off the reprimand. "It's just that I keep wondering how it could be this way so fast. We went from nothing, to _bam_, sleeping in the same bed, him talking all excited about Sam. How does that happen overnight?"

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned, meeting Caroline's amused expression. "Girl," she grinned. "The romancing? Already happened."

Ava frowned.

"Junior year? Of high school? When he was making eyes at you and you just insisted that nothing was going on?"

Ava felt a blush creep up her neck. "Yeah."

"You wouldn't tell me then, but I have _got _to know now. What the hell went on with you two back then?"

She sighed, glancing back toward the TV. "A lot."

**2011**

It was a Thursday night; not a true party, just a loose gatherings of attendees and their ladies, drinks and hanging out. Ava sat on the lowered tailgate of her truck, iPod plugged into her ears, staring out at nothing. Just thinking. And trying to wipe away the mental image of Happy with some Crow Eater skank in his lap. Movement over by the bikes captured her attention and she realized it was Juice – stumbling as he walked around his Dyna, beer bottle in hand.

A smile tugged at her lips. After he'd flipped her calculus textbook shut and had assured her that she'd ace the test he'd just helped her cram for, he had announced that he was about to get ", shitfaced and laid", and had wandered off with a wide grin and a wink. She liked Juice…a lot…and it didn't hurt that he was one of very few who didn't treat her like a child. She was sure he caught shit from his brothers about it, but he was never opposed to spending time downloading and talking about music, helping her with her math homework, making fun of Tig. He wasn't an "uncle" or a cousin. He was her friend. And that was very unexpected.

Her smile widened when he found whatever he had been after – his iPod – turned, spotted her, and shouted ", hey!" with a huge grin. He was decidedly drunk.

"Hey!" she shouted back, pulling an earbud out.

He came over, his walk a little slow and a little crooked, smile still firmly in place when he leaned up against the tailgate beside her legs. "What's up, gorgeous?"

_Oh damn. _He _was _drunk. Drunk enough to let his judgment slip and use words that stirred up a tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could feel herself blushing just a little. It was hard to spend so much time around him and not notice her physical attraction; she had an understandable weakness for that skin and eye color combo.

"What're you doin' out here all alone?" Juice tilted his head in question, smile twisting to something like sympathy, hand landing on her thigh.

_Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…_he really should not have been touching her there. Because the tingling was rapidly turning into a crazy storm of butterflies. Her voice was a little breathless when she found it. "Guess I'm just not in a party mood."

"You're sad," he nodded in that self-assured way that only drunk people can. "Because you are in _loooove _with Happy and you're not the one rubbin' all over his lap in there."

Her excitement took a turn toward panic. "No," she protested.

He lifted the hand on her leg so he could wave away her weak denial. "You don't need him. C'mon, you can be my date."

"Yeah, Juice, that's a bad idea." Because it was. Because her unrequited love for Hap and her teenage curiosity were becoming a dangerous cocktail as of late.

"Nah." He drained his beer, set the empty on the tailgate, and then moved to stand between her slightly parted legs, hands on her knees.

Ava's heart kick started against her sternum. The blood pounded in her head as his hands traveled _all the way up_ to her hips. He was looking at her chest, not her face. He was so wasted. Sober Juice would have been appalled at what he was letting happen. Hell, she wasn't so sure she wasn't appalled herself; in every fantasy, every waking dream and hope, the man running his hands up her thighs and watching the rise and fall of her breasts was Happy. But currently, Happy had a lap full of slutty blond sweetbutt. And all of Juice's good manners were out the window as he latched onto her waist and grinned up at her the same way Hap had been grinning at the whore. Her flaring hormones made the decision for her as she allowed him to pull her off the tailgate.

But then it all turned to shit. As Juice lifted her to the ground, he lost his balance. Ava yelped as he staggered, tripped, and fell backward, dragging her along with him. The landing was awkward; Juice sort of collapsing accordion style feet first. She didn't hear his shaved skull crack against the asphalt, thankfully, but his breath left him in a loud rush as she slammed into his chest, forcing him against the pavement.

"I'm sorry!" she said, even though he had been the one to fall. Still, her elbow had caught him in the ribs pretty hard.

The fall had jostled her senses and she was having a hard time disentangling their intertwined arms and legs. Add that to the fact that she was suddenly _very _aware of the size, feel and sculpted hardness of his body under hers, and she was too flustered to do anything but brace her hands on his shoulders and stare down at those black coffee-colored eyes and wonder what it would be like. She loved Hap, but what if he never…? And what if Juice would…? And dear God her legs were split over his waist and his big silver belt buckle was hitting her in just the right spot, taking her breath until she was balanced, waiting, hoping. Panic seized her for one brief moment when his hands tangled in her hair and his lips came apart, but then it died just as quickly.

Ava had never been kissed before. And the wild light in his drunken eyes led her to believe that it would be a crushing, aggressive thing. But his lips brushed hers so carefully, gentle enough to allow for the startled gasp to leave her. He grinned, cute as hell, and pulled her back down again. This time it was warmer, there was more contact, and she felt muscles and tendons twitching all throughout her body. Felt excitement, doubt, worry and wonder get shaken up in her already fluttering stomach. His lips were soft, teasing at hers, letting her adjust to the sensation.

She pulled back after a moment, his hands still in her hair, loose, dark strands spilling over her shoulders and framing his face. He wasn't smiling anymore, was stone serious and…something she didn't recognize on him. Ava was terrified, could hear the beat of her own heart in her ears. But she knew, in that moment, that there was something she wanted besides emotional love. And she might even want it with Juice.

**-O-**

Ava reached up and hit SKIP on the MP3 radio she had her iPod docked into. She grinned when "Lollipop" started and went back to her homework, thinking about the things her own tongue had been doing lately. Juice was still adamant that they were just playing around and that he would not have sex with her, but the making out was starting to become adventurous. Earlier in the week, his hand had gone creeping up under her shirt and electricity had surged through her, cracking her spine nearly in half as she'd leaned into the touch. She wanted more. Wanted all of it; to be fucked like the panting girls in every song she listened to. But Juice was still playing the gentleman card.

The door opened with a squeal and the empty clubhouse echoed with the thud of booted footfalls. Ava twisted on her barstool, pencil leaving her lined notebook paper, and saw Juice in his T-M shirt and shades, surveying the deserted common room as he approached the bar. The artist in her found the details – the shift of muscles beneath clothing, all the little masculine things she liked to pick apart and find beauty in – and the girl in her relished in the sight. He was not her Happy. But he was…something.

"Hey," he gave her a nod and slipped his shades off as he went around behind the bar for a beer.

"Lunch break?" she asked with smirk as he came to sit beside her.

He made a face. "Tig and Jax got into it. Like, _into it_, man. I'm just keeping clear of the fallout."

"Smart." She returned to her notebook to keep from staring at his mouth as he took a sip of beer. Damn her hormones.

"Calculus again?"

"English." She scribbled a fast note in the margin of her paper. "Something I actually like to do." She liked to do other things too. Ava turned again, glancing at him. He was staring at her paper, giving her eyes free rein over the sight of his elbows on the bar, biceps bunched and stretching the fabric of his shirt. "Speaking of things I like…" she trailed off, flipping her notebook shut.

Juice wagged his head. "This can't keep happening, Ava. It's not right."

"Not right? So says the man who hacks into federal databases on a daily basis."

He snorted. "Yeah, but I'd rather go to jail for that than _other things_."

She turned fully so that she faced his side, legs crossed and toe poking at his hip. "Well, it didn't seem to bother you two days ago when you were…" a little shiver went through her "…teaching me how to use my tongue."

His hand opened and then closed around his beer bottle, rings clacking against the glass. He took a deep breath and then let it out in a rush. "Goddamn it…I'm gonna get my ass tossed out of the club," he muttered.

"I never said anything about running away Romeo and Juliet style," Ava rolled her eyes. "What? This has been such torture for you?" Doubt tickled at the back of her mind and her tone became serious. "You were the one who started this. And last I checked, you weren't drunk every time we -,"

"I know, I know." His eyes cut over. Wide. Dark.

They studied one another a long moment and Ava kicked herself mentally. She hadn't meant for it to get back to the same old argument. Why the hell did he even protest? If they were just "having fun", what was the problem? Why mess with a good thing? "Well," she turned back to her homework, disappointed. "You know what I want. Sorry that offends your genteel nature."

It was silent a moment, the song the only thing that passed between them. The words painfully sexual.

"Fuck it," Juice said suddenly. He reached out, hit the BACK button and restarted the song, cranking the volume all the way up.

"What are you -," Ava gasped when he pulled her off her stool by the hand. She didn't protest though, following as he towed her into the main bathroom and kicked the door shut, locking it. "Juice?"

He didn't answer, giving her that hard, warning look as his hands found her hips. He picked her up easily and sat her on the low countertop. Ava felt warmth flood through her, knew her cheeks were flushed. He pushed her legs apart and stepped between them, leaning down to kiss her. She met him readily, lips parting. He had been instructing her, and she was anxious to give back, to show how well she'd learned and that she was ready for more. Less and less of late had he needed to pull back and give her that heavy lidded look as he whispered some bit of technique. Now he just kissed her, trusting her to keep up. And she did.

He spread her thighs further and then his hands found her hips, pulling her to the very edge of the counter, until she was afraid she'd fall off. Only she was blocked, held upright, and her mouth went slack with shock when she realized what part of her was touching which part of him through their jeans.

Ava broke the kiss, inhaling sharply. His answer was to put a hand to the small of her back and pull her against him. His belt buckle dug into her pubic bone. And then there was…her eyes widened. Something hot, desperate and unknown licked through her. Started at the place where their bodies touched and curled tight through her belly, making her arms and legs race with invisible energy. "What -,"

"What you wanted," Juice's smile was sideways and a little dark. His expression was half satisfied, half strained. "You change your mind?"

"No," she said quickly. "No, I just don't…know what I'm doing."

He kissed her again and the warm, consuming softness of his lips somehow connected what she felt between her legs to what was happening to her overloaded senses. "I got it, babe," he assured against her temple when he tucked her more closely to him. "You ever cum before?"

"No," her voice was shaky.

He chuckled. And then rocked his hips, moving against her.

_Jesus Christ. _Ava's hands curled into claws in the front of his work shirt, clutching to him as he ground slowly against her, again and again. The friction, the growing hardness she felt pushing against her through their clothes – she was starting to feel almost dizzy. And pleasure was running though her body in currents, building, strengthening, heading toward an unforeseen finish line. She was breathing hard. He was too, grunting as he thrust his hips forward now, quickening his pace.

"Fuck," he whispered. "Relax," he told her in a breathy rush. "Let it happen. Cause shit, I can't take -," he cut himself off, bearing down on her more, grinding their hips together hard.

It felt so, so good. She didn't know how it could feel any better. How she could possibly get to wherever she was headed…but then it happened. A maddening internal crash. Her body seizing up and Juice cursing as she felt his muscles jump beneath her hands. Her neck stiffened and then went limp, head falling back, cheek brushing against his.

"Oh, God," she murmured. The light was spotty. She was trapped still in his arms and wanted to stay there. To feel that again and again. Beyond the closed door, the music still thumped. _Call me, so I can make it juicy for ya _suddenly had a whole new meaning.

She didn't want him to let go of her and move away, but he did, dropping to brace his hands on his knees like he'd just run a relay race. "I'm gonna need a minute," he said tightly, not looking at her.

And as fast as it had come, the rush faded. She felt fragile, exposed even though she was fully clothed. And suddenly anxious about a lot of things; one of them being the fact that Juice refused to glance her way. The other being this sinking feeling of disloyalty to the man she loved. They were just playing around. She wasn't supposed to be _feeling _anything.

"I'll just go," she said, hopping off the counter. She was a little unstable, wobbled a moment, but got to the door and pulled it open.

"Ava -,"

But she kept going, shutting him in behind her.

**-O-**

"Last time," Ava started, but then cut herself off, shaking her head as she stared fixedly at Juice's belt buckle. That damn buckle had come in contact with a certain part of her anatomy more than once now and it was driving her insane. She sighed, remembering the bathroom incident weeks before, when he'd made her cum without even undressing her. Without being inside of her. She still wasn't sure how she felt about that – only knew that she wanted it again in some capacity. "Why did you," she finally met his eyes and the mischievous smile beneath them ", walk away from me?"

"Why did I…_oh._" His smile became sheepish as she sat beside her on the bed. "That." He scratched the back of his neck. "I was trying to keep from…" he waved his hand through the air and Ava's eyes widened.

"Oh."

But he, as always, just went ahead and said what he shouldn't have. "You know, didn't wanna blow my load." He nodded. Pleased with his own explanation.

Ava rolled her eyes and chuckled despite the awkwardness. "Do you ever have a thought that doesn't come out of your mouth?"

"Surprisingly, yes." He laughed too. "And trust me you don't wanna hear the stuff that stays locked up."

That she believed.

"So. What are we doing up here?"

Ava glanced around the upstairs apartment that Jax called home every time he felt life slipping away and had to go rogue from Tara for a bit – the big jackass. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth a moment before she faced him. She had pestered him about this until he'd finally agreed, and in her head, it had been all about gaining more experience; becoming a woman Hap would want and not just some virginal girl. But with the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds, halving his face in shadow and glistening, smoky tan, the butterflies started up again and she was no longer thinking about Happy.

"I was wondering," she started with a deep breath, looking him directly in those big, dark brown eyes ", if you'd take your shirt off."

He was still a moment and then grinned, brows climbing his forehead. "What?"

"Please, Juice? I -," his smile widened, like when he was making fun of someone, and she sighed. "Forget it."

"Nah, nah," he chuckled. "C'mon." Ava gave him a wary look, but he was reaching for the buttons on his T-M shirt. "I don't mind being objectified. I get it."

Her exasperated comeback about his ego died in her throat when he shucked the shirt to the floor. She'd seen most of the guys shirtless before. And no one compared to the tattooed, sculpted visual masterpiece that was Happy in her eyes. But her pulse skipped a beat anyway as her eyes slid over him. And her breathing became shallow as she reached out.

Juice grabbed her wrist gently and urged her to him. She went, moving up on her knees, rewarded by a smile when her fingers slipped across the knotted muscles along his shoulders. His skin was smooth, warm, gliding under her hands. Because now she used both, rubbing across his pecs, pulse finding another gear as she moved lower, down over his abs. She could feel her brows knitting together, hear her breath rushing in and out of her lungs. "Juice?"

"Hmm?" he was smiling gently at her, rubbing her forearms as she stroked his torso.

"I want you to fuck me. I mean, really want you to."

"Ava."

"Please," she heard the whine to her voice and didn't care. "Do…do you not want me?"

His jaw tensed and his voice became serious. "That's not the problem."

The same desperate urgency that plagued her about Hap closed over her. It would always be the same thing – with everyone. Her age was always going to be an issue. "I know that I'm just sixteen, but I've grown up around here. I'm not as young as that number tells everyone. Age doesn't -,"

"Stop," he was gentle when he said it. He pulled her arms around his neck so she was perched in his lap, right up close in his face. "You're beautiful, and you're smart. And sometimes…" he shook his head once, sucking at one corner of his bottom lip. "But this, what we're doing, it shouldn't be happening. You and I would both be in big trouble."

She sighed because she knew he was right.

"Hap would literally kill me."

The comment brought a smile to her lips, even though she was pretty sure it was false. "Yeah, Hap doesn't care so long as I'm not being chased by crazy Irish people."

Juice gave her a dubious look. "The fact that you think that makes you not ready for this."

"But I _am _ready. I am so goddamn ready."

"You're not gonna win this one, babe," he said, firm. "So you might as well -,"

His eyes widened when someone pounded on the locked door. "Juice!" Bobby's voice carried through the wood planks. "What the hell you doin' in there? We gotta go!"

"Yeah, five minutes!" he yelled back.

Ava frowned, knowing her time was up for now. Once again sexually frustrated. "Wait," she dug her nails into his back a moment, thrilled at the little flicker that her actions sent across his face. "Answer me one question. Please."

"What?"

"Consequences aside," she whispered in case Bobby was still there ", if it was just you and me to worry about, would you…?"

"Fuck you?"

She nodded.

Juice cupped the back of her head with one big hand, pulling her into a kiss that left her head spinning. His heart thumped against her breasts, beating strong through all the smooth, bare skin that was exposed to her eyes and hands. Their lips came apart with a wet sound. His face was humorless, stern even, deadly serious. His eyes bored into hers. "Trust me, sweetheart, I'd do more than that."

**2016**

"Ava! Hello! Ava." Caroline snapped her fingers loudly, sucking her back out of the vivid, secret place in her mind where she'd been for however long.

Ava shook her head, chasing away the clinging memories. "What? Yeah. I'm here."

Her friend was half hanging off the couch. "Are you seriously not gonna tell me all the _juicy _details?"

It was easy for her to forget that point in her teen years; the fear and doubt, the shivering first taste of desire. It felt raw now, and too personal. None of it, she realized with a lump forming in her throat, was gossip worthy. It had all been much more than she'd acknowledged at the time. "No," she said, earning a scowl. "That's just between him and me."

**-O-**

Juice had come home excited about a job prospect for her. She'd nodded through dinner, listening and withholding her laughter at the fact that he'd gone snooping through her romance novels. He wanted her to pitch some short story ideas for a web-based division of Harlequin publishing. She'd smiled, told him she would think about it, but writing a bunch of romantic drivel just didn't appeal to her at the moment.

Now they were in front of the TV, channel surfing and fighting off sleep. Ava had her legs hooked over his lap, snuggled up to his side with her face nestled in the hollow of his throat. He smelled like garage and cologne and it was lulling her. She batted her lashes, trying to keep her eyes open.

"There's nothing on," Juice griped. She heard the remote land on the coffee table. His knuckles brushed against her stomach like they'd done so many times that evening and she smiled against his neck.

"S'okay. I'm sleepy anyway."

"Yeah?"

"MmmHmm." The memories from earlier were still kicking around in her head. She hadn't examined them in awhile, but now they wouldn't leave her alone. It was a pleasant bother though; it made her warm and clingy with him, rubbing lightly at his chest with her fingertips. The one that stuck out in her mind was his declaration of _", trust me, sweetheart, I'd do more than that." _She had always associated that with something deviant and sexual. But now, as he held her, let her lay all over him, rubbed her arm in an unconscious gesture, she knew differently.

"Juice," she said quietly, unable to keep her suspicions to herself. "Before, when I was younger, we weren't just playing around, were we?"

She pulled back a fraction when his head turned, just far enough so that she could see his eyes. His face looked soft and thoughtful. His hand squeezed her upper arm. "No."

**TBC**


	18. Fortunate Son

**18. Fortunate Son**

"She asleep?"

Juice glanced over where Ava sat curled up at his side, her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was even. "Yeah," he said with a chuckle, turning to Kozik who was settling onto the sofa across from him.

"Wow. Nine o' clock. She's a real party animal these days."

He tightened the arm that rested across her shoulders. "She's been tired lately."

Koz made a face. "Probably has something to do with the…" he made a round gesture with his hands, like he was holding a basketball, and then pointed at the girl. "Damn, how far along is she?"

Juice grinned. Had she been awake, Ava would have been offended. She was still slim and trim, which made the fetus inside her all the more obvious. From behind, no one could tell she was pregnant, but when she turned, the baby bump was a surprise _pop _to her otherwise normal physique. "Eighteen weeks. She goes for another ultrasound in a few days. Kid's been uncooperative and they haven't been able to tell if it's a boy or a girl yet, but the doc thinks he should be able to get it this time."

"Weeks? Shit, dude, you're all up to speed," Koz said with a laugh. "You havin' fun playin' daddy?"

His smile slipped. He didn't forget who he was and who the growing child belonged to, things were quite clear in his head, but hearing it said aloud just made it feel…cheap. He gave a little facial shrug and took another pull on his beer, not meeting the other man's gaze. He wasn't _playing _at anything, and he knew himself well enough to know that his eyes would give it away.

"What's gonna happen?" Koz went on in that manner of his that was somehow innocent even though the questions were anything but. "When the kid's born, you still gonna be around?"

Juice tilted his head in question, trying to gauge his suddenly grave expression. "What're you getting at?"

He shrugged, but his eyes were hard. "Nothin'. Just making sure."

"Making sure of what?"

Koz twitched a grin. "Defensive is good…means I won't have to chase your ass down for changing your mind. 'Cause we're cool, Juice, you and me, but I was reading this one bedtime stories before you even knew what the Sons were. So…"

Juice raised his brows. "Really? You're really gonna go there?"

"…so don't fuck up."

He sighed. "I'm not going anywhere."

Koz's eyes shifted over to the sleeping girl. "Good."

**-O-**

"Have you called your mom yet?"

"No," Ava tugged her left boot back on and stood. "I thought I might go by the garage and see her and Juice; tell them in person."

Tara nodded, smiling, hands in the pockets of her white coat. "They'd like that." It had been an important doctor's appointment, and one of those crazy days when the shop was covered up. Maggie and Juice had both wanted to come, but couldn't. "So, you excited? This was the answer you wanted, right?"

It was. Ava was nostalgic and full to bursting with a fresh wave of grief, but her smile was wide and true as she slipped into her jacket. She'd seen it up on the ultrasound monitor; definitive proof. And she didn't know whether to laugh, or cry. Sam was a boy.

"I'm elated," she said. "I just wish…"

"I know," Tara put a hand on her shoulder and they left the exam room together, heading side-by-side down the long stretch of white hallway.

"Thanks for sitting with me," Ava stared at her feet as she watched over the growing bump of her stomach. She hadn't thought she would need her hand held, but it had helped. And something about Tara being a doctor made it almost as comforting as having one of her two guardians of late in with her. "I was nervous as hell."

"Oh, you're welcome." She paused a moment, their heels loud on the tile. "You know, Ava, we have a fabulous grief councilor up on the sixth floor if -,"

"No."

"I think it would be a good idea," Tara prodded. "She's nice, a good listener. And everything you told her would be totally confidential."

"Doesn't matter, not gonna happen," her voice took on a defensive edge. Her heart was hammering against her ribs just at the thought of the suggestion.

"Ava, the loss you suffered was…terrible. And it's okay to need help. Councilors are trained to handle that kind of pain. Whereas your mom and Juice -,"

"I said no." Ava halted, causing the two nurses who'd been walking behind them to swerve to the side. She curled her hands up into fists to keep them from shaking. "There's not a councilor in the world who needs to see what the inside of my head looks like. It's sweet that you care, but that's not the kinda help I need."

Tara sighed and glanced away, as if she hadn't expected any less. "Okay," she shrugged. "Just…remember what I said, if you change your mind."

**-O-**

"A boy?" Maggie stood so fast her desk chair went rolling backward, colliding with a file cabinet. "Really?" Her smile mirrored Ava's earlier one; sad and thrilled all at once.

"Yeah," she laid a hand on her stomach. "Little Sammy Junior."

"Oh, sweetheart." Maggie pulled her into a fierce hug. "Goddamn it, I wish I'd been there." Ava returned the embrace, letting her mother stroke her hair the way she had when she was a little girl. "I know this is what you wanted."

It was always so much harder to keep her composure around Maggie. Ava squeezed her eyes shut, teeth clenched, fighting off the emotional breakdown that wanted to drag her under today. This was good news, wonderful news, and sobbing would diminish that. She was tired of the tears, crying until her throat and stomach ached and her face was swollen. She'd had two bright weeks with Juice and didn't want to revert to her invalid state of grief just yet.

"C'mon, Mom, don't make me cry."

"I won't," Maggie assured, pulling away, but she dabbed at her eyes, turning around quickly. She forced a tight laugh. "This is great, baby. I just…wow…a grandson." She was decidedly _not _crying when she faced Ava again, but the impulse was plain on her face. "Have you told Juice yet?"

"That was my next stop after you."

"Go!" she waved her off. "Go tell him. Big doofus will be smiling all afternoon."

Ava rolled her eyes as she watched her mom reach for the tissues. "I'm getting out of here before we're both bawling like babies."

**-O-**

Maggie waited until Ava was a safe distance away, headed for the open garage bays where she'd seen Juice earlier. Then she whipped the phone out of the cradle and dialed like a mad woman.

"Gem? We're go for blue paint Saturday. Sammy's a boy."

**-O-**

Juice and Opie had a car up on the lift, working on something amongst the undercarriage that had turned their arms black and smudged their faces with grease. Opie noticed her approach first and nudged Juice, nodding at his inquiry.

Ava stopped well away from the car, surprising herself with so much caution. That little human-shaped blob on the ultrasound monitor, clearly a boy, had made it feel more real somehow. There was a _person _growing inside her; one that needed to be sheltered. And things she ordinarily wouldn't have hesitated about now made her wary.

Juice set his wrench aside once he finally figured out Ope's hinted looks and throat clearings. His grin was huge. "Hey, baby!" Ava couldn't help but smile. He was almost childlike when caught off guard in a good mood like this.

"Hey," she didn't protest when he put his grimy hand on her hip and leaned in to kiss her. It was axel grease smeared on his cheeks – she could smell it, and that made her smile all the wider. Such a cute idiot.

"How'd it go?" She could have sworn he looked nervous. Excited maybe. She still couldn't get over his seeming interest in the baby.

"Well," she said with a deep breath. Damn, why did this feel like a big deal? Telling Juice. It shouldn't have, but he was staring at her, waiting, and it felt more significant than it should have. "The doc says _he's _completely healthy."

"That's great!" he nodded. "Did you find out the sex?"

Ava bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"For Christ's sakes," Opie muttered behind them. "_He_, dumbass. It's a boy."

"It's a boy?" he glanced over his shoulder at Ope, then back to her, brows all the way up to his mohawk. He grinned. "It's a boy?"

"It's a boy," she confirmed.

"Shit! That's awesome, babe." Before she could protest, he took her face in his hands and kissed her. He realized his mistake the moment he pulled back. "Oh…damn, I'm sorry…"

Ava touched her cheek and her fingers came away black. She sighed, but smiled.

**-O-**

Juice lingered in the clubhouse after work. He sat at the bar and earned curious looks due no doubt to his lack of ever present laptop. Bobby and Tig were shooting pool, Tux and Carter were parked in front of the TV.

"You gonna tell us why you're sittin' over there frettin'?" Bobby asked.

He shook his head, taking another sip of his beer. He was waiting on Jax and Chibs, and was bouncing his foot on the bar rung, wallet chain rattling by the time the Prez and VP finally made an appearance.

Juice was on his feet in an instant. "Jax, I wanted to ask you about Saturday."

The blond held his cigarette in his teeth while he accepted the beer Chibs slid across the bar. He gave Juice a flat, sweeping look. "Fixin' up the nursery for Ava? You find out what she's havin'?"

"Aye," Chibs spoke up with a grin. "Boy."

Tig and Bobby paused their game. Jax nodded and shrugged. "Club's not shellin' out a bunch of cash for that."

Juice sighed, feeling that strange new rebellion flaring up in him again. It was a dangerous sensation. "She's your _cousin_, Jax. That thing with the boys…" he shook his head at the other's warning look. "She doesn't want a shower. This can be you and Tara chipping in for a gift." He could see the approval shining in Chibs' eyes, but knew the Scot wouldn't press the issue with Jax. "We all stood there and watched her Old Man die in that stairwell," he pleaded, now with everyone in the room. "We owe her this much."

The silence stretched, Jax puffing on his smoke. It was Tig who finally spoke. "She's a top notch Old Lady, Jax. The way she backs this club…that's not something you wanna push away."

Juice raised his brows, shocked to hear the Sgt at Arms speak approvingly of her.

"What?" he shrugged. "Don't mean I wanna be friends with the little shit." But it was a lame cover of his initial statement. Ava was beyond loyal to the club – she was the kind of Old Lady they'd want to usher in the new, younger generation of SAMCRO women. One of these days, she'd be Gemma all over.

"She loves the kids, Jackie-boy," Chibs prodded, eyes downcast. "Don't hold a grudge. She's just a girl and she can't take anythin' else right now."

Jax nodded, took a swallow of beer, and then met Juice's stare. "What time Saturday?"

**-O-**

"Ugh," Ava groaned, stepping out of the fifth pair of jeans she'd tried on. She could get them to button, but had to scrunch them down below her baby bump, to the point where they nearly slid off her hips. And they sure as hell weren't comfortable. "Nothing fits anymore."

"So wear leggings," she heard Juice call from the bathroom. "You like those better anyway."

"I know, but it's the principle of the matter. I don't want to wear leggings because I have to wear them. I ought to be able to wear jeans if I want to."

It was Saturday morning and she was standing in front of her closet, struggling with her wardrobe because Tara had invited her along to an art display in Sacramento. Ava didn't really want to go, but Juice had encouraged the girls' day out. And she _was _starting to grow weary of the house.

He came out of the bathroom, pulling a shirt on. "Is this one of those times when I can't win and should keep my mouth shut?" he asked, adjusting the tight sleeves of his thermal knit tee.

"Probably," she sighed, stepping into her favorite gray leggings and pulling the long tail of her shirt down over her ass. "I just feel frumpy and ugly lately."

Juice came to her side, sock feet scuffing on the carpet, and pulled her into a hug, arms around her shoulders. "Stop at a Wal-Mart while you're out. Then you sure as shit won't feel frumpy."

"Oh, so now I'm only slightly better looking than the bra-less hags who wander around Wal-Mart. Thanks, baby."

"That's what I'm here for," he said with a laugh, reaching down to pinch her ass. "That and, you know, servicing your needs."

"Yeah, well, my needs wouldn't be too tired to be serviced if I wasn't going on this stupid art thing."

"I have many talents," he joked, moving away from her ", but art is one need I can't service. So, go, have a good time." Then he mock scowled and aimed a finger at her. "That's an order."

"Juice, you're not so good with the whole order thing either," she said with a smile.

"I know."

**-O-**

"Looks good, boys," Maggie said as she entered Ava's spare bedroom and did a slow revolve in place. There were old sheets down along the base boards and blue painter's tape marking off the juncture of ceiling and wall. "You've got a drip, Carter," she said, pointing to a rolling drop of baby blue near the window.

"Shit," he slapped his roller over it, hastily stopping the run before it could go all the way down.

Tux was putting a fresh coat of white on the window sill. "Hey, man!" he yanked his arm away when it got rolled with blue paint too.

Maggie rolled her eyes as she went back to the living room. "Someone needs to keep an eye on Bob Ross and company in there. The goddamn ceiling's gonna be blue."

Juice and Chibs were sitting in the floor, trying to piece together the black lacquer crib Ava had eyed at the store but refused to comment on. "I'll supervise," Chibs said, thrusting the instruction manual at her. "This is all in Spanish, and guess what? The 'Rican don't speak Spanish."

"I was born in New York," Juice protested. "I'm not _from _Puerto Rico."

"Excuses," Chibs snorted, getting to his feet. "Take over, luv. I'll go whip the grunts into shape."

"You do that," Maggie said with a smirk, settling cross-legged on the carpet beside Juice. Chibs shouted something unintelligible to the two youngest patch holders and she grinned. "So," she flipped a few pages and easily found the English instructions. "What kind of progress have you got going on here?"

"The legs attach with these," he held up a handful of screws. "But there's an uneven number. And the wheels it shows on the pictures…not here at all."

"Foreign piece of shit," Maggie complained lightly. "Guess we'll have to improvise."

"Maggie!" Tig shouted from the open back door. "Are we bringing in the dresser?"

"Not yet!" she returned. She didn't want the furniture anywhere near the remedial painting crew. When she glanced back, Juice was holding up two legs of the crib and staring at them with comical concentration. She still had to bite back laughter at his moments of genius incompetency…but she had a whole new respect for Juice as of late. "Hey," she said quietly and he glanced up. Maggie lowered her voice even more. "She seems happier."

His grin was slight, but pure. A true smile that she figured he probably saved for quiet moments when he wasn't under fraternal scrutiny. The smile that was slowly pulling Ava out of her funk. "Yeah, she does."

"Thank you for that."

**-O-**

Ava glanced through the brilliant glare of the plate glass window of the Sacramento Wendy's as she nibbled on a fry. It was a crisp day and people were already Christmas shopping, housewives out in their SUVs they didn't know how to drive nearly colliding in the parking lot.

"You liked the display?" Tara asked. Again.

"Yeah," Ava faced forward again. "Blown glass is really not my thing, but some of those sculptures were amazing. It never hurts to broaden the horizons."

Tara nodded as she took a bite of her chicken sandwich. "I think it was good," she said after she swallowed ", for you to get away from Charming for a bit."

The doc had an agenda, and it was becoming more than bothersome. "Tara," she sighed ", why does it always have to come back to my mental health?"

"Because I spent six weeks injecting sedatives into your arm," she said levelly. "And to be honest, I think you've latched onto Juice too hard, too fast."

"Wow." Ava trailed a French fry through the ketchup puddle on her burger wrapper. "That was subtle."

"It wasn't meant to be. Look, Ava," she put on her professional face. "I'm only saying all this to help you. You still have a lot of unresolved issues and I don't want to see them come to a head after Sam is born. Post partum depression is common among new mothers and that's considering they _haven't _lost their husbands. Grief counseling could help you create a stable mental environment to -,"

"Doc," she said firmly. "I've never been stable. Never. What am I supposed to tell your councilor pal? That I loved a man twenty seven years my senior since I was old enough to understand that emotion?"

Tara sighed.

"That on the way to Fresno, when Irishmen attacked us, I killed both of them. That I didn't feel guilty about it. That I'd do it again in a heartbeat. That he was like a father to me and still all I wanted was to have him inside me."

Her eyes were wide.

"There is _nothing _I could tell a grief counselor that wouldn't land me in a padded room. There is no way to fix me. I lost my soul when he died, and I won't ever be the same. So thanks for trying, but no thanks. I'm a goner, move on to the next patient."

**-O-**

The ride back to Charming was silent and uncomfortable. Ava unlatched her seatbelt before the Yukon was in park and jumped down as soon as she could. She wanted an ice cream sandwich and a mindless few hours of TV with Juice. But Tara followed her up the back steps.

"I'm sorry, Tara," she said, rubbing at the headache that was starting to form. "But I just can't take any more 'girl time' right now."

She shook her head. "No, it's not that. I need to come in with you."

"Why?"

"Just," Tara leaned around her and twisted the knob. "Go in and see."

Her truck and the two bikes had been the only vehicles in the drive, but there was evidence of many more people in the kitchen. Take out containers and cups littered the table. The smell of smoke was strong. And what was that other odor…paint? Multiple cuts hung off the backs of the kitchen chairs. "What in the -,"

"Hey," Juice appeared in the doorway. "Come back here with me."

She followed, confused, down the hall, Tara behind them. Juice led them to the doorway of the spare bedroom, and when she stepped inside, her jaw went slack.

The tiny room was packed with bodies. Tux, Carter, Bobby, Tig, Opie, Clay…Jax and her father. Maggie was just inside the door, hands clasped expectantly in front of her. "What do ya think?" she asked, voice excited.

And that was when Ava noticed that amongst all the Sons, the room was full of other things too. The walls were a pale blue, hung with framed pictures – a mixture of some of her own drawings and family photos, all in matching black frames. Chibs stood with a hand on the rail of a black wooden crib, complete with blue and white check bedding. A changing table. A dresser. A rocker with a patchwork quilt thrown over the laddered back. It was a nursery. And on the wall above the crib, wood block letters stood out in white relief; SAM.

Ava stood, completely stunned. She felt Juice's hand on the small of her back, registered the smiles around her, but she couldn't speak. And couldn't move, hands going to her throat in slow motion.

Jax stepped forward, hands in his pockets. For one terrible moment, she was afraid of what he'd say. But then he spoke. "This club takes care of its own. Especially in times like this. We love you, Ava. All of us. And I know it ain't much compared to what you're dealin' with, but this," he swept an arm to encompass the room and grinned ", is from all of us. Congrats on Hap Junior, cuz."

It was too much; the gesture, the love of so many, the remembrance of what she'd lost yet again, her worries and fears about bringing Sam into the world…Ava felt the sharp pressure in her chest only a moment before the tears started and she drew in a shuddering breath, sobbing on the exhale.

Jax closed the gap between them, wrapped his arms around her. Ava dug the ends of her fingers into his cut, the scent of leather filling her nostrils as she clung to him and cried.

**-O-**

In the dark that night, in the warm, comforting seclusion of bed, Ava lay on her side, Juice behind her spoon-style, an arm around her waist and his face in her hair. She felt his bare chest against her back, his heart thumping slow and strong. She traced the backs of his knuckles, his ornate rings, with her fingers. She was calm now, all cried out and composed. The quiet was nice.

"How'd it go with Tara today?" he asked, not having had the chance before.

Ava made a face she knew he couldn't see. "She keeps pushing grief counseling on me. Says I'm not stable."

Juice was quiet a moment. "Well…I think it might be nice if you could talk to someone."

"I talk to you."

"Not much."

She sighed. "Nothing I say will change anything. I don't want to talk. I want to go back in time, be there with him, and maybe I could have stopped it. If he hadn't been alone…if I'd been -,"

"Ava, you couldn't have stopped it."

"I did before," she protested.

There was another beat of silence. "I don't like you wanting to put yourself in danger like that."

"Why not?"

"'Cause I just don't."

Ava felt an odd stirring of warmth in her chest, rather than the normal ache of loneliness. She closed her hand over the top of his, tightening his grip around her. "Juice, I love you. You know that, right?"

He exhaled and it ruffled her hair. He moved his arm higher around her, so he was hugging her back against him. "Yeah."

"I really do," she went on. "I always have, in some capacity. But, if I get the chance, if I ever find the guy who took Hap…I'm gonna take him out. I love you…but I gotta do that."

**-O-**

Eventually, the warmth and fatigue pulled her under, and then Juice was alone with his thoughts and her steady breathing.

She loved him. She'd said it. She clutched his hand still, even in sleep.

He didn't know how long it would take him, or how hard he'd have to search. But he knew what he had to do now. For the girl who loved him and the baby boy growing inside her.

**TBC**


	19. Airplanes

**AN: **Sorry, everyone! A nasty cold and real life have impeded my writing. And the real life situation promises to be a continuing distraction, but I am still writing, I promise! This is a bit of a filler chapter, but things will pick up next time.

Thanks so much for reading and please leave a review!

…

**19. Airplanes**

**Christmas Eve**

"But how'd he get in there?" Johnny asked, face scrunching up as he tilted his head and regarded her belly.

Ava laid a hand on her stomach, smiling awkwardly. "He started out tiny," she held up her thumb and forefinger. "And he's growing."

He sighed. "No, but how did he get _in there_? Did you swallow him?"

Christmas with the family…never dull, even when she wanted it to be. She had somehow wound up on the end of the long sofa beside Bobby. Johnny and Abel sat on the floor at her feet because now that she was pregnant, she wasn't just the entertaining cousin, but the most entertaining cousin of all time.

Bobby started chuckling. "Well, I'd say she swallowed _something _at _some point_."

"Bobby!" she gave him a light slap with the back of her hand.

"Ooh!" Johnny sat up on his knees. "If you swallowed gum, would the baby chew it?"

She shook her head, caught between horror and complete amusement.

"That's not how it works," Abel spoke up.

"You don't know!" his brother shoved him.

"Yes I do! There's an egg. And the baby grows in the egg with the sperm. Mama told me," he nodded proudly.

Bobby's laughter escalated.

"Abel," Ava said, resting her temple against her propped fist. "Why don't you and Johnny go find Kenny? I hear he's looking for someone to play football with."

The boys seemed hesitant and Bobby waved them away, sending them tromping through their grandmother's living room and into the kitchen in search of Kenny Winston and his rumored football. Ava geared herself up for another grandiose sigh as Bobby continued to chuckle, actually wiping at his eyes.

"This isn't funny," Ava said, but couldn't hold back her grin when she twisted on the sofa to face him. "I can't even deal with the little boys I get to return. What am I gonna do with a permanent little boy? I can't take him back if I can't cut it as a mom."

"Ava, sweetheart," he reached over and patted her knee. "You won't _want _to return your boy, even if you 'don't cut it'."

She twitched a half smile, not really convinced. Did she love Sam already? To fucking pieces. But love didn't cover up fear, doubt, and all the questions she had. The larger her growing belly became, the more frantic she started to feel about the whole situation.

"Besides," Bobby went on. "Somehow, that bumbling idiot in there," he waved toward the plantation shutters separating living room from kitchen and the view they afforded them of Juice ", is gonna be a good dad."

Ava hadn't dared refer to him as "dad" yet. She tilted her head doubtfully. "I dunno, Bobby…"

"He's excited," he nodded. "Been runnin' his mouth about it at work. Kid wants to have a kid." He raised his brows. "Wants to have _your _kid."

She propped an elbow on the back of the sofa, slumping against it for support. "Really? He is?"

"Darlin', he's head over heels down that hill with no intention of steppin' on the brakes."

**-O-**

"Juice!"

He turned at the sound of Johnny's voice, finding the kid stumbling all over his unlaced sneakers, football looking huge tucked under his arm. He was a cute little bastard – looked just like his mom.

"You wanna come play with us?"

He couldn't help but grin. "Sorry, Lil' Jay, I gotta get back in there."

Johnny rolled his eyes dramatically. "With Ava?" He sighed. "Okay." Then his face lifted. "Hey! Did you know she has an egg in her tummy? And it chews gum too! She swallowed it."

"Um…_what_?"

Jax was at the counter, stealing tidbits off a plate of cookies, and snorted a laugh.

"What if," Johnny began in all seriousness ", you crack the egg? Could that happen?"

Jax laughed out loud and Maggie – who had been chuckling quietly against the back of her hand at the "bar" the center island had been turned into – joined him. "Shit!" Jax coughed. "You better not break that damn egg, bro."

Juice felt the blush flare up in his cheeks as he passed a hand over his head and tried to figure out how to answer the kid. "Well…it's kinda like…I mean, there's not an _egg_…"

"Johnny, babe, where's your brother?" Maggie interjected, saving him further embarrassment.

"With Kenny," he turned to her, hitching up his jeans with one hand.

"Go play then, sweetie," she ushered him out, heading back into the living room herself.

"Dude," Jax clapped him on the shoulder as his laughter died. "Sorry 'bout that. The things kids say, huh?"

Juice nodded, but his smile was brittle. Just when he was feeling so solid, sneaking peeks at Ava through the blinds in the kitchen, giving her a little space but keeping watch, loving that she had a smile on her face and color in her cheeks tonight – here came Jax's kid with weird questions that made him realize he didn't know jack shit about being a father. Because that was what he was setting up to be – a dad. He couldn't very well be Ava's Old Man and just "Uncle Juice" to Sam when he was born. And Sam's real father was dead, so he needed one. Juice was not only ready for that, but excited about it. But then here came Johnny with an awkward kid question and he was shaking in his boots all over again about it.

"You doin' a'ight?" Jax asked. He raised his brows, the following question evident without words.

"Yeah," Juice scrubbed at his jaw and nodded. "Everything's great." He knew the only reason the President had even inquired was because of Ava. Every so often, Jax came out of his self-centered bubble, and it always involved one of his blood relatives.

Jax grinned, not believing him. "Just relax, man. When the kid gets here, you'll know what to do."

Juice sighed as his Prez walked away. He really wasn't freaking out. He wasn't. He told himself this at least once a day, and he wasn't, but if he had to rely on some sort of dormant parental instinct…the poor kid was fucked.

Considerably less chipper than before, he plastered a smile on his face and went back to the living room. He scanned the length of the leather sectional, but didn't find Ava. Everyone was there, drinking and talking over one another until the voices were a loud rush like the ocean tide coming in to shore, but no Ava.

**-O-**

Christmas in Charming was always just cold enough to make her think she didn't need a coat, but then she shivered in the dry, windswept cool of Gemma's back patio. The flowerless shrubs rustled together at the edge of the concrete and crisp leaves skittered along at her feet, making sounds like snake scales on a forest floor. It was dark, the wall scones throwing a muted wash of yellow across the indoor/outdoor cushions of the chaise she was seated upon. When she turned her head, Ava could swear she saw the lean, shadowed figure she'd known so well propped up against the stucco wall. Could remember with clarity the hurt in his eyes and darkness in his voice from a night just a few short years before – when he'd loved her, but not enough to keep her. Even now, she could swear she smelled his cigarette smoke.

"You okay out here? It's a little cold."

Not phantom smoke, but the real thing she realized as Juice's voice broke the silence. She hadn't even heard him come outside. "I'm fine," she said, tightening her arms around her middle. She twisted on the chaise and watched him grind out his smoke under his boot and come her way, hands in his jeans pockets.

"You don't look fine," he prodded, sitting down next to her. He braced his elbows on his knees and gave her a searching look. He did that – stared at her like he was trying to see into her mind through the layers of skin and bone.

She offered a half smile and scooted closer. He lifted his arm out of habit, draping it across her shoulders as she leaned against his side. It always gave her a bit of a jolt; the realization that Juice was perfectly fine holding her, touching her, being with her in front of God and everyone. That it wasn't a forbidden deed around the shadowy corner of the house, not to be talked about. There was no air of danger being with Juice; nothing that sent her heat hammering and blood rushing. While that would have depressed her another time, now she laid a hand over her pregnant belly and searched the night sky, glad for his solidity, still forlorn over her loss.

She lived a constant contradiction. She had everything; a home, a family, a good man. But how could she have all those things and be without Happy? How could she feel content, but be without the man she loved so dearly? She went back and forth in her head, her moods swinging like streetlights in a hurricane. And Juice was patient, chalking it all up to pregnancy hormones. She didn't talk about Hap anymore, didn't let herself get caught staring at his pictures; but he was still there, in her head. Her heart.

She hadn't cried for two whole weeks. Kozik had been in town and he'd taken her out for ice cream, had sat, silent on the concrete bench outside the shop, and let her dig her nails into his arm and wrestle with the emotions she didn't want Juice to see. He knew. Of everyone, her Uncle Koz knew how hard it was for her, and how she needed those moments where she could be the five-year-old little girl on his knee again, to remember Seattle and cry over Hap.

But now her eyes were dry. She snuggled against the warm shoulder of Juice's sweatshirt and inhaled the mixed scents of his cologne and cigarette smoke. Her rounded stomach was against his side and if anything, he pulled her in tighter. She thought about Bobby's earlier comment and knew that he really did seem excited about little Sam. Bless him…however it was possible…he was thrilled about her baby.

"Make a wish," he said, jarring her a bit, drawing her eyes up to his hand that pointed to the deep midnight black of the sky above them.

It felt odd for a moment. Happy did not look at the stars; he was never a wondrous spirit with a wandering imagination. Not like Juice. And then she spotted the pinprick of faraway light; the blinking red flashes and the white dot that tracked across the heavens. She grinned, truly this time. "That's a plane, you dork. You can't make a wish on a plane."

"Sure you can," he said confidently. "Just close one eye and pretend it's a shooting star. I do it all the time."

Ava snorted. "Do those wishes ever come true?"

"Sometimes."

She shivered as the breeze snatched around them again, scraping leaves across the concrete. Overhead, the plane continued on its journey.

_Sometimes. _

**Christmas Day**

"Wake up."

Ava groaned. Something heavy was digging into the length of her side. Some sort of wind rushed past her ear. All she knew was that it was too early and she was too tired and _did not _want to be awake at the moment.

"Ava," the voice said again, and the wind over her ear identified itself as Juice's excited breathing. "Get up."

"No," she mumbled, tightening her grip on the sheet that she'd pulled up to her chin.

"We've got breakfast with your parents in an hour and a half."

How could she have forgotten Christmas morning breakfast? With another groan and an uncoordinated lurch, she forced herself out of bed, blinking away sleep and wondering how the hell Juice could be so chipper.

Getting out of the shower, wearing sleep shorts and the sweater she'd laid out the night before, toweling her hair, she was surprised to see Juice sitting on the bed. He was still in his boxers and wifebeater and beside him, on the rumpled sheets, was a messily wrapped present, complete with smashed red velvet bow. "Juice?" she dropped her towel on the bathroom floor and approached the bed. "I thought we said no presents."

He grinned and shrugged. "We did, but I thought you needed one anyway."

**-O-**

"What time are they gettin' here?"

"Soon," Maggie answered, straightening the silverware on either side of the plate she'd just set out on the table. "I said ten fifteen."

Behind her, she heard the floorboards squeak once more as Chibs made another nervous lap around the living room. "Baby," she called ", have a beer. Take a deep breath."

"Don't you worry about my breathin'," he griped. "Breathin' just fine."

Maggie sighed as she faced him. He looked nervous as a cat. This breakfast would be the first time the three of them would all be seated around the table as a family since before Hap's funeral. And though she'd been patient, Maggie was thinking that "giving Ava time" was no longer the solution to the gaping rift between her and her father. She needed her dad, now more than ever, and somehow, Maggie and Juice were just going to have to make her see that.

**-O-**

Ava's heart thudded against her breastbone as she fingered the crinkled, sloppy wrapping paper that covered her gift. Presents were tricky. There was always a very good chance she wouldn't like whatever it was, in which case she'd have to pretend to like it through a false smile. And even if she loved it, there was a certain awkwardness about being the complete center of attention, held captive under the gift giver's scrutiny, his or her breath held in anticipation of a reaction.

She could feel Juice watching her, his eyes as tangible on her as his hand against her knee as she peeled away the sections of Scotch tape and unwrapped whatever this was. But then all her worry faded when she realized what she was holding; a worn, slightly yellowed, autographed copy of _'salem's Lot. _Just like her mother, she had an affinity for King's work, and this was her very favorite. Autographed by the man himself no less.

"Where did you get this?" she gasped, meeting his shyly pleased look.

He shrugged again. "I've been bugging that Walter dude down at the bookstore for awhile about it. It finally came in. Just in time."

It was the kind of gift her mom would have gotten her; something that wasn't practical or useful. Just something for her; a keepsake. Something she'd treasure forever. She leaned forward and circled her arms around his neck. "I love it," she whispered. "It's perfect."

**-O-**

There were a multitude of things Chibs wanted to ask his daughter. He'd seen her just the night before, but now here she was, just on the other side of the little kitchen table from him. Her hair was longer, past the middle of her back. He figured she hadn't bothered to have it cut. But her color looked better than before – better than after the funeral – pink in her cheeks and a pinch of red under her lip gloss.

And she was _pregnant_, her belly obviously round and her face just a little fuller. There was so much sadness, pride and worry over her condition fluttering around in him…but all he could do was sneak glimpses of her while they ate. Watch for signs of her prior cheer and humor as she talked to her mother. Take note of the attentive way Juice checked on her with little touches and questioning looks.

Juice really was a good boy, better than Hap had ever thought about being. Happy had loved her, no question, but in his own, bizarre, twisted and possessive way. Like watching an alpha wolf with its mate. But Juice was the doting husband figure she needed so badly in her life. The expectant father, the careful lover who thought she was the most beautiful thing to ever grace his line of vision.

But she was still fragile; still poised at an unseen precipice, ready to fall and shatter. And not to mention, Chibs missed her. The daughter he'd chosen, the one he'd stayed with, had pushed him away. Father to two…dad to none. And it hurt like hell.

**-O-**

Still, after all these weeks, Maggie wanted to do a double take when she glanced across the table and saw Juice sitting there next to Ava. So much about it was right. Juice was younger – more so in spirit than in years – but still, younger. He had so many of the little, trivial things in common with Ava. Didn't have any of those conflicting father figure/protector/uncle feelings for her. No, for Juice she'd always just been a pretty girl he wanted to be with.

But Maggie knew, as she eyed Ava's growing stomach, that Sam would complicate things in a way Juice couldn't imagine.

**-O-**

Ava pushed her scrambled eggs around on her plate; she hadn't been able to eat them since she'd become pregnant. Like milk, eggs were just one of those things that turned her stomach. Across the table, she could sense her father's gaze, and it made her twitchy. Chibs didn't even try to speak to her anymore. He cared that little.

**-O-**

Beginning his year as a Prospect, Juice had always been included in Gemma's big Christmas Eve bash. And he loved that shit. Really. But Christmas day had always been quiet; eating frozen dinners and watching lame shit on TV. Thinking about the few decent Christmases he'd had in New York.

But this…waking up next to his beautiful Old Lady, swapping presents, breakfast with the family…this was spectacular. This was the kind of holiday he had hoped for, hadn't expected, and sure as hell had never mentioned for fear of being called a pussy by the guys. But this was the good stuff right here. Had he wanted Hap to die? No. But when Ava had asked him about wishes coming true; he'd been thinking of this moment, around the table as a family, and not just one based on leather and patches.

**-O-**

"You should try to talk to him," Maggie urged as she rinsed the last plate and passed it over.

Ava toweled it off with a snort and placed it on the counter. "I've got nothing to say to him." But still she found herself glancing back over her shoulder into the living room where Chibs and Juice were sitting.

"He's your father, Ava."

"It's never seemed that way."

Maggie sighed. "He misses you."

She didn't answer.

"What about when the baby's born? You gonna starve him of a father _and _a grandfather?"

Again, no answer.

**-O-**

"What'd you get her?" Chibs asked casually, but Juice could see the curiosity as his eyes flicked away from the TV.

"Autographed copy of her favorite Stephen King book."

"Nice. Bet that was a hit."

"It was," he nodded, and then fiddled with one of his rings, piecing together what else he wanted to say. "I've been thinking about getting her something else too."

"Oh yeah?"

Juice took a deep breath. "Yeah."

He let the silence hang, and then the VP twisted around in his chair, checking the kitchen with a fast scan. Both women were still at the sink, well out of earshot. Chibs grinned. "You goin' shoppin', eh boy?"

"Shopping?"

Chibs tapped at the ring finger on his left hand.

"What….? Oh! No, um…no. Not what I was thinking. Not yet anyway."

Chibs shrugged. "Too soon anyway, kid. Probably for the best."

"Yeah, look, that's not what I was talking about."

"What then?"

Juice leaned forward, dropping his voice a notch. "I've been talking to Mayday, doing some digging. The guy who killed Hap? I think I found him."

**TBC**


	20. Sweet Child O' Mine

**20. Sweet Child O' Mine**

**April**

**Nine Months Pregnant**

"You look absolutely ready to pop, girl," Caroline said, shaking her head as if in disbelief.

Ava balanced the TV remote on her huge belly and sighed. "Trust me, I feel ready to pop." Three days past her due date, the baby was dropped and ready; her abdomen distended to a point of extreme discomfort. She couldn't see her feet when she was standing. And her narrow, trim frame seemed to be having a hard time coping with the dragging weight of the baby. There was all this unrelenting pressure on her internal organs. She wanted nothing more than to give birth to Sam; even as terror took hold the closer the day came to actuality.

"Do you guys have everything you need?" Caroline asked. "Diapers, wipes, blankets, whatever the hell else? Cause I have a feeling once this whole process begins, you and Juice are gonna be a little out of your minds and not thinking properly."

"No shit," she winced, shifting on the sofa to try and get comfortable. Her back had been bothering her for a few hours now.

On the floor, cross-legged with her back to the TV, Caroline stared fixedly at her stomach. "Did you do all that birthing class stuff? Lamaze? Is that what they call it?"

"Yes, that's what they call it and no, I didn't do any of it."

"Wow. Really?"

"People have been having babies since the dawn of fucking time…no special breathing is gonna make it happen any differently or hurt any less. The docs will walk me through it when I'm in there."

Caroline nodded. "You make a good point."

"I know I do," she said with a chuckle.

"Have you decided who's gonna be in the room with you when you deliver?"

A twinge of pain in her lower belly had her shifting yet again, making another face. "Just Mom," she said.

"No Juice?"

"Definitely no Juice."

"You don't want him feeding you ice chips and holding your hand?" Caroline was only half serious.

Ava shook her head. "There are some things he just doesn't need to see." She paused, rubbing her belly, inhaling slowly against the pressure in her lower back. "His love's not unconditional."

**-O-**

"Sal Rubio," Juice tilted back the screen of his laptop so the brothers crowding around his shoulders had a better view. "Did a dime in Chino on trumped up weapons charges, been with the Nor Cal Mayans five years. Last known address puts him in Oakland, got no family, MIA going on eight months." He scrolled through the compiled pages of info; the maps, the official documents, the pieced together timeline he'd formulated through street whispers and half-truths. He'd found him in December – had learned a name, but then the trail had gone cold again. He felt like a hound; snuffling along, catching whiffs of scent here and there, only to lose him over the proverbial creek every time. Mayday and a few Nomads had been helping him when they could. Chibs knew. But this was the first he'd spoken about it with the rest of the club.

The chapel was quiet a long moment, chairs creaking, and then Jax sighed. "You been lookin', what, six months? And this is the first I hear about this stupid-ass plan?"

"I wanted to wait," Juice glanced around the faces to either side of him ", until I had something solid." He earned sympathetic glances, but some disapproving head shakes too. He heard Jax sigh again as he went around to the head of the table and took his seat.

"So lemme get this straight," the Prez said, lighting up a smoke. "You wanna hunt down, _kill _the guy who shot Happy, and get me to sign off on it. Yeah?"

Juice took a deep breath. "Yeah."

"It's been months, dude, Rubio…or whatever the fuck his name is…is long gone. Alvarez said he'd take care of that shit if he showed back up."

"And we're just supposed to take his word for it?"

"What's this even about, bro? Hap's been dead eight months."

"Ava," Tig answered for him. "She been talkin' about this?"

"No. But it _is _for her. And the baby."

"Jesus Christ," Jax rolled his eyes. "I love Ava, we all do, and I'll do what I can for her. But no good comes from us stirring up more shit with the Mayans right now. And you," he aimed an admonishing finger down the table ", have enough on your goddamn plate about to be step daddy to her kid. She don't need revenge right now, and neither do you."

It wasn't as if he'd expected a gung-ho agreement, but Jax's reaction was still a let down. Juice let his eyes wander over his laptop again – over the now well known face of the man he'd been tracking for months. He saw that damn face in his sleep. And then he woke up next to the girl who belonged to him only because of the actions of the man who owned that face…and the purpose became all the sharper inside him. Jax had sought retribution for every wrong committed against him and his, so why couldn't he have that same sense of closure? Why couldn't Ava?

Something tightened in his gut; some new, twisty, well oiled serpent that had taken up residence inside him. It was an anticipation, a dread, that spiked his pulse, but in a good way. In a way that somehow left his head strangely clear and his palms dry. It wasn't fear, just this wave of absolute certainty that washed over him. Like when Ava had gone to the hospital a month ago with Braxton Hicks contractions and he'd snatched the doctor up by the lapels. _You fix her and you keep that baby alive, doc, or it's your head. _Having a dependent did that to him. Knowing what he had to do did that to him. And fed the serpent that sent cold chills down his spine now.

His voice was firm when he spoke. "I'm not asking anyone to help me. This is on me; I just don't like hiding things from the club, so I wanted you to know."

"Jesus," Jax shot a glance to Chibs. "Did you know about this?"

The Scot was tugging at his beard, staring at the double doors to the chapel. His eyes shifted over. "Aye. I did."

"And you didn't think this idiot's faulty goddamn 'plan' was something worth sharing?"

Juice bristled in his seat, bracing his hands on the table, but Chibs waved him to silence. He didn't see the VP disagree with Jax very often, so he was just surprised enough to hold his tongue.

"It's the kid's call to make, Jackie-boy. And it's somethin' we'd all do in that situation."

"If he finds the guy…" Bobby started.

"And Alvarez is done with him anyway," Opie reasoned.

Bobby nodded. "Can't hurt. Asshole killed a member."

"Killed _Hap_," Tig emphasized.

"Left behind a widow and a kid," Opie said.

Juice felt a solid warmth surge through him; his bros were backing him up. Showing their love and support. It was moments like that when he was reminded just how worthwhile the hard times with the MC were.

Jax took a puff on his cigarette. Tucked his hair behind his ears. "That's a dark road, man," he said finally.

Juice forced a grim smile. "What's _not _dark around here these past few years?"

"Point," Jax consented with a nod. He weighed him visually a moment. "What do you need from the club?"

"Honestly, I just want to know I have you guys' support."

"A'ight…you've got it."

**-O-**

Ava felt completely useless being this pregnant. She stretched on her toes, fumbled her hand toward the top shelf in the closet, and was still too encumbered by her belly to reach the electric heating pad she was after. And the reaching only exacerbated the pain in her lower back and stomach. "Goddamn it," she swore under her breath.

"What are you after?" Caroline asked from the bedroom doorway behind her.

Ava sighed; her friend had been hovering all afternoon and kept shooting off random text messages she explained away with a shrug. Over the past week, she'd had a babysitter of some kind every day. Gemma. Lyla. Her mother. Now Caroline. Juice was fretting and didn't want her alone. But rather than offer comfort, all the attention just made her feel like a burden on those around her. She was ready for a face-to-face with Sam, and a return to her normal size.

"The heating pad," she said reluctantly, pointing to it. Caroline, though a good three inches shorter, managed to snag it down with a jump and a reach. "Thanks," Ava sighed, rubbing at her stomach yet again. "My back's killing me."

"And your front?" Caroline motioned toward her hand. She frowned and didn't hand over the heating pad. "Um, Ava, I have this sinking suspicion you're going into labor."

"What? No! That's ridiculous."

"Your back is hurting, you can't sit still, you're having cramps…face it, chick, you're in labor."

Ava felt like someone had slopped ice water down her back. Labor? As in the baby was coming? As in she was about to have to push a live human being through her….suddenly all the books and talks with the other mothers around her meant absolutely nothing. How in the hell had she thought this moment would make her feel? Calm? Jesus Christ, she was in labor. And ready or not, Sam was on his way.

"We don't know that," she tried to rationalize, feeling a clammy sweat break out across her forehead. "This could just be another false alarm."

"Ava," Caroline sighed, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You're past your due date; anything at this point is _not a false alarm_."

"But I'm not ready!" she sat down hard on the edge of the bed, wincing at the jolt it sent through her aching back.

"It's okay, it's okay," her friend made a 'calm down' gesture with her hands. "It might not be labor, but I think we should go to the doc and have you checked out either way. I'm gonna call your mom and Juice -,"

"Don't call Juice."

"He's practically your husband, you nimrod, I'm calling Juice!" she said firmly, and picked up the cordless land line on the nightstand.

**-O-**

"But don't think this excuses you from club shit," Jax said, still at the head of the table, aiming a finger at Juice. "Your responsibilities to your brothers and this charter come first."

"I know -," Juice started, and was cut off as someone pounded on the outside of the chapel's double doors. He closed his laptop on instinct when the handle twisted without invitation and one door opened.

"What the hell, Mags?" Jax asked when his cousin poked her head through. His aggravated expression was a nonverbal _did you just get here yesterday? Don't come in the chapel!_

Maggie shook her head and locked eyes with Juice. "Ava's on her way to the hospital. Sam's coming."

**Five Hours Into Labor**

Juice alternated between feeling so heavy with worry and wonder that he couldn't even pick his head up out of his hands, and then fits of nervous energy. This was one of those nervous spells, his wallet chain jangling around as he paced the waiting room at St. Thomas, boots thumping loudly on the tile.

They'd let him go in and see Ava about an hour ago. Actually, he was allowed to be in there now, through the whole thing, but Ava had wanted time with her mother, and he guessed he couldn't really blame her for that. Swallowed up in a white hospital gown, all kinds of monitors and beeping things with flashing lights in there, the sight of her had heightened his anxiety. He'd be perched in on the edge of her bed if she wanted him there…but she didn't. And that was okay. But he wanted to see that baby, couldn't damn wait in fact. Nine months ago he would have laughed uproariously at his own corny thoughts, but now it felt like he already knew the little guy and was thrilled for that first face-to-face. In a lot of ways – and he didn't like to let himself think it often – it felt as if Sam were his. Ava hadn't been showing when they'd first hooked up, when his affection had led to this full-blown entanglement, so when he felt the baby's little foot kick through her belly, it was like it was a product of _them _and not her and Happy. He knew that was a dangerous way to think, but he couldn't help it. For the first time in his life, he had his very own nuclear family.

Ava's third trimester had been like finding a rhythm; getting comfortable. The late Sunday mornings, the creative sex positions, keeping up with her doctor's appointments and reassuring her that he was scared shitless too, but that they were in it together. He'd had no idea that on an August afternoon, as the sun went down across the cemetery and the breeze had upturned all the leaves so the graveyard looked bathed in silver last light, when Kozik had carried an exhausted, grieving, sleeping girl to him and settled her into his arms, that he would find a place with the instant family he'd been handed. But he had. And he was happy.

If not more than a little freaked the fuck out as he made another lap around the Formica and vinyl seating cluster.

"Maybe we could get some hot nurses to pass you cups of water when you get into your next mile," Jax ribbed him with a grin.

"Good one," he retorted flatly, keeping pace.

"Oh, like you've got any room to talk," Gemma said from her chair, marking the place in the _Cosmo _she was reading and giving her son a knowing look. "When Johnny was born, you wore through the damn floor."

They went back and forth a minute more, but Juice tuned them out. All the guys were here, even Clay. Only Maggie was back in the room with Ava, and he couldn't resist testing the reach of the hall on each past, hopeful that Maggie would stick her head out of the room door and beckon him in. He wanted to be with her, damn it!

"Juicy-boy," Chibs said, catching his attention. "Take a deep breath, kid. It'll be alright."

"How can you be so calm? You're about to be a grandfather."

Chibs patted the empty chair beside him. "C'mon. Sit down."

**-O-**

Ava felt her mother's cool palm smooth the hair off her forehead. "How's the pain, baby?"

Pain. What a choice of words. With each contraction, each reminder of what was happening; she wanted Hap more and more. To be in such "pain," to feel her body working in a way she hadn't thought possible, and to be frightened, stressed and desperate, it obliterated any progress she'd made. She wanted Hap. Every breath-snatching stab of pain that shot through her brought his face before her eyes. She could swear she heard the low rumble of his voice in a far-off corner of the room. She wanted his rough hand in hers, his kiss dropped on her forehead. His son was about to be born, and he was dead.

She closed her eyes and felt the warm, wet tears slide down her temples. "I wish he was here, Mom," she said in a choked voice.

"I know, sweetie. I know."

**After Eight Hours of Labor…**

"How can you tell which one is him?"

Chibs tried not to laugh at the way Juice had both hands pressed to the glass, staring frantically into the nursery. His breath fogged the big picture window through which they could see all the pink and blue swaddled squirming babies. Jean Carlos Ortiz was half piss-in-his-pants excited, half jumbled ball of nerves. Chibs remembered the feeling well, and was glad that, for now, all he felt was beaming pride as he scanned the rows of infants.

"Look at the names," he instructed, tapping at the glass. But he didn't have to search for _Morales_ among the charts. "Or," he said with a chuckle ", look for the reaper."

Little red-faced Sam was in the second row, tiny blue SOA beanie already on his head. It had become a tradition; sons of Sons got to wear the Sons' hat. Sam was no exception. Chibs realized when Juice spotted the miniature emblem and rocker on the cap because he smiled; hugely.

"Wow," Juice breathed.

Chibs nodded. "Aye. Wow."

**-O-**

Ava had never been more tired in her life. Neither had she thought that certain parts of her body could throb with such insistent pain. The birth, the entire ordeal, had been excruciating. And now she could barely lift her head.

But none of that mattered.

In her arms, sleeping, tiny lids lowered and still-pink face peaceful, was her son. Her Sam. The ultimate outcome of her love for Happy…and his for her. Their baby. Alive. Beautiful. And though she was sure no one else could see it, the spitting image of his father. His face kept swimming, shifting in her eyes, and she batted her lashes to clear her vision, but it didn't help. Fat crystal drops fell on the blue fleece blanket wrapped around Sam and she couldn't seem to understand that they were her tears.

A hand reached and stroked softly over the top of his blue knit cap. "Hi, beautiful," Maggie crooned as she perched on the edge of Ava's bed. Sam stirred slightly at the touch. "What a handsome little man."

"He looks like Hap, doesn't he?" Ava whispered. Maggie made a sound of agreement. "God, Mom, he's…"

"Perfect."

"Yeah."

Ava didn't even like babies, not really. But all she could do was marvel at her own. His tiny fingers and little button nose. The way she felt his body shift in her arms with each drawn breath. God, she wanted Hap to be with her; to see Sam and share in the absolute wonder of him. Even though Hap hadn't wanted children, even though he would have been unsettled throughout her pregnancy, she knew he wouldn't have been able to resist the magnetic pull of his offspring. She longed for his arm around her shoulders, a finger tracing the reaper on Sam's cap the way Maggie's was now. Her chest tightened until she could barely breathe, the tears came faster, and then she was sobbing; deep, ragged, raw sobs that tore her throat open and made Sam squirm around in her arms.

Maggie slid an arm around her. "Don't cry, sweetheart," she sounded near tears herself. "This is a happy day. This is good."

Ava nodded and sucked in a deep breath, but wasn't able to control her outburst. "He should be here! Hap should be here! With me, and with him."

Her mom tightened the embrace across her shoulders. "Wherever he is now, trust me, he wishes he was here, looking at his boy. I know he'd want that."

"It's not fair," Ava whispered, broken. "How can I be so…but without Hap it's so…" she shook her head, too tired and stricken to put together the necessary words.

It was quiet a moment in the room; their uneven breathing the only sound. "You know what Hap would say, if he was here," Maggie finally said. And then, in a voice that was a horrific, strained imitation of the deceased biker's deep, raspy voice, she managed ", you did good, kiddo. But what the fuck am I supposed to do with a baby? Goddamn!" And then she launched into a coughing fit brought on by forcing her vocal chords in such an unnatural way.

Ava couldn't help but smile as Maggie recovered.

"You know I'm right," she insisted between gasps. "He'd be freaking." Another cough. "But…there are two guys down in the waiting room going out of their goddamn minds wanting to see you."

Ava sniffled and sighed, patted Sam's back as she rocked him gently.

"Juice wants to come in," Maggie lowered her voice a notch. "He's fretting over you." She tucked a strand of Ava's hair behind her ear. "And he can't wait to meet Sam."

She had known this was coming; it had been inevitable. She couldn't live with, sleep with, be with someone as sweet and loving as Juice and then just expect him not to give a shit about her baby. It had been his hand over her stomach, lying quietly in bed, worrying about the future. His kiss that brushed over her forehead on early mornings. Juice was recognized as her Old Man by all the Sons and their women…she belonged to Juice now. And he would be the third party of the family she now had with Sam.

But why did the thought of letting him come in the room make her heart ache? And better question; why the fuck was Chibs even here? He certainly hadn't approved of Hap being with her, as if he would want to be reminded of him by way of his offspring. She wanted to be alone; just her, and Sam, and Maggie. But she nodded robotically anyway, knowing that she had to grit her teeth and get this over with.

"They can…they can…come in."

**-O-**

"How far out are you?"

There was a crackle of static over the other end of the line and then Juice heard Koz sucking at the inside of his cheek in thought. "Another couple of hours probably," he said at last. "It'll be late, bro."

"That's cool," Juice assured. "You guys can see her first thing in the morning." He had been immensely grateful to hear that Kozik and Tacoma's VP – one of Ava's long-time "uncles" – Glen, were coming down from Tacoma. They had feigned some sort of business with SAMCRO, but he knew it was for Sam and Ava.

There was a smile to the Sgt at Arms' voice. "You seen the kid yet?"

"Nah…" he trailed off when Maggie entered the mouth of the waiting room, beckoning with one hand, smiling tiredly. His heart leaped up into his throat. "Oh, shit, there's Maggie. I gotta go, man. I think I can see him now."

"Go on then, Dad," Koz chuckled. "We'll see ya in a bit."

Juice snapped his phone shut and dropped it in a baggy pocket, heading for Maggie as Chibs approached from the other side of the room. All the guys had gone home, leaving Tara behind. She had her white coat on over her street clothes and was propped against the wall; shoved off with one foot and headed down the hall ahead of them as he reached Maggie.

He went straight to Chibs' Old Lady, heart hammering against his sternum. "Can I see her?" he sounded breathless in his own ears, but couldn't seem to control it.

She smiled. "Yeah. Docs have her all set up in a private room with Sam. Tara's gonna come take a look at him."

Juice felt a hand clap him on the shoulder as he followed Maggie down the hall – Chibs – and pulled in a deep, anticipatory breath. Chibs was Sam's biological grandfather, the one man in the hall actually related to the baby and his mother, but he stepped aside at the door to Ava's room, as did Maggie and Tara. The door was open and a nurse was puttering around inside, checking that things were all set up. But all he saw was Ava, reclined back on a mound of pillows on the bed, looking pale with her once-damp, drying hair curling around her shoulders. And in her arms, bundled head to toe in soft blue, was Sam.

He'd seen him through the glass viewing wall of the nursery, he knew what he looked like, but as he slowly approached the bed, it was like seeing him for the first time. He felt more and more like his stomach was being pulled out through his feet with each step. But he made it to the bed, where Ava was watching his approach guardedly…well, maybe not guardedly…no, jut tired. She had to be exhausted.

But he couldn't pay too much attention at the moment, whatever she was feeling, because Sam had his full attention. "Wow," he grabbed the side rail of the bed. "He's amazing, babe." He felt a sudden, strong urge to kiss Ava, and reached to cup the back of her head. She was too tired to comply, so he dropped a kiss on her forehead and then turned back to the baby. "Can I hold him?"

"Support his head," she instructed, voice tight. "Careful now…easy…don't drop him…"

"I got him," he assured, nestling the warm bundle in his arms. God, he was such a tiny thing. Asleep. Eyes closed. Someone had told him once that babies were tiny humans; and he couldn't get over the miniscule lashes and nose, the fingers, the tiny wrist with its name band. Samuel James Morales Jr.

Juice had been filled with pride the day his bike had been airbrushed into SOA rank and file; no longer the plain silver of a Prospect. His first reaper tat had left him beaming. The praise of his brothers warmed him. But this…Sam…this was a feeling he didn't know how to describe.

"Hey, little dude," he said, his cheeks aching from the perma-smile he couldn't wipe off his face.

"Aye, he's gorgeous, sweetheart," Chibs said, leaning in to see Sam.

Juice heard Ava murmur something in response, but couldn't tear his eyes away from the baby in his arms.

Chibs laughed softly. "So, Da, how's the first meetin' goin'?"

"Oh," Juice's smile widened, if that were possible. "Not the first meeting. We've already shaken hands so to speak."

It took Chibs a moment to catch his meaning, but then he burst into laughter.

**-O-**

From the door, Maggie watched her daughter. Her bracelet covered wrists were crossed together in her lap, and her eyes were wide and stressed as she watched Juice with Sam. Worry, longing, perhaps even anger flickered across her face as Juice, oblivious, smiled and cooed at the sleeping baby. Had it been anyone else, she would have blamed the emotions on the day, and on her exhaustion.

But Ava stared at Juice, and Maggie knew it wasn't with love or pride.

"Hey," Tara whispered at her side, tapping her lightly on the arm. "Is it just me, or does Ava look a little upset?"

"I wish it was just you," Maggie sighed. "Trust me, I wish."

**TBC**


	21. Nothing to Cry About

**AN: **I'm sure some of you already know this, but I feel obliged to warn everyone that this is just the tip of the drama iceberg. But don't worry too much. I promise, cross my heart, that all will be worth it in the end. VERY worth it! Juice will not be a poor whipping boy as the story moves forward; that's another promise!

Thanks for reviewing!

…

**21. Nothing to Cry About**

"Is it wrong that this is kinda….um…"

Ava felt her jaw clench at Juice's words, but didn't take her eyes from Sam. The bright morning sun filtered through the cracked blinds and shone on the infant's face. It was far from comfortable, more than a little awkward, but so far the third attempt at breast feeding Sam was the most successful.

"Juice," Maggie sighed across the room. "Not every thought you have needs to come out in verbal form, honey."

"I know," he sounded a little ashamed.

Ava heard Tara chuckle as she walked around the foot of the bed, hands in her pockets, and then leaned in to check on the progress of things. "He's eating well," she said with approval. "Much stronger than Johnny was at this age. That's a really good sign, Ava."

"I'm amazed he didn't come outta the womb with a gun in his hand," Gemma snorted, earning a laugh from everyone in the room.

Ava smiled sadly as she watched Sam nurse, reaching to adjust the edge of his beanie. As overwhelmed as she was with love for the tiny being in her arms, she couldn't shake the fresh onslaught of grief she felt for Hap. Something reminded her of him every moment, and it was a crushing weight, threatening to drag her under at any moment. And there Juice was over in the corner, fucking getting _turned on _at her breast feeding the baby. Idiot.

He'd slept in the room with her, propped up in a plastic chair, snoring. And now, as the only man present, was doing his damndest to live up to idiotic male standards and represent his gender properly.

_Damn, _she checked her own thoughts in her head. _That was bitchy as hell. _And it was. But something about seeing Juice yesterday, Sam cradled in his arms, smiling down at the precious bundle with such love and pride, had given her the urge to claw the biker's eyes out. It had nothing to do with Juice, not really. It was that he wasn't supposed to be the first man to hold him. There should have only been awkward, uncle affection for the kid, not pride. Not love. And the nurses looking between the two of them like they were some kind of a…a…_family_…made it all too much to bear.

Watching Sam, a memory slipped from its hiding place in her mind, and it wasn't one that she'd wanted to conjure up.

_There was one last gentle tug of teeth at her nipple and then Juice pulled his mouth away with a quiet, wet sound. He lifted his head from where he hovered over her body, hands braced on the mattress, and met her eyes with his own wide, dark ones. He breathed through his mouth, panting almost. "This isn't doing anything for you, is it?"_

_She was a little ashamed that he knew her body and its responses so well by now. But it was the truth; she wasn't even remotely turned on. "No," she sighed, reaching to pull the loose shoulder of the man's shirt she wore back up over her naked skin. _

_Juice sighed, but dropped a kiss on her forehead as he rolled over onto his side next to her. He circled an arm around her and pulled her against him, though her growing pregnant belly made it difficult. She glanced down and saw the hard ridge of his erect cock standing out under his boxers. Part of her felt guilty, but part of her didn't._

"_It's okay," he assured. "We'll get back into a real rhythm once the baby's born."_

Ava lifted her head a moment, finding Juice's stare across the hospital room. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, but his face was peaceful. And he watched her and Sam with an alertness that sent shivers down her spine. She turned back to the baby as someone's cell phone chirped.

"That's Jax," Gemma announced. "They're here and about to come up."

"I'll go meet them," Maggie said, ducking out of the door.

Gemma stood too and motioned to Tara. "C'mon, doc. We'll go get some coffee."

Ava carefully disengaged Sam's mouth – he wasn't enthusiastic anymore – and pulled up her gown.

"Oh, babe," Gemma turned back at the door. She was smiling. "They brought a surprise."

An image of the SAMCRO boys wrestling a whole florist's shop's worth of balloons into the elevator made her smile. The women left, yielding to the coming tide of patch holders, and Juice stood, stretching and working the kinks out of his back.

It felt strange to watch him, for some reason. It was as if – and she felt an awakening as the thoughts bubbled to awareness in her mind – she had convinced herself that Juice was short-term. That however she loved him, it had just been a hold over. But now Sam was here. And Hap was still gone. And she still missed him like crazy and needed to be held. Only the sight of Juice, as she rocked Hap's son in her arms, irritated her. He shouldn't be here. None of it was right.

She didn't have long to dwell as the echo of voices and footfalls grew louder down the hall. The Sons were coming. Juice pushed open the door and leaned out, laughing at something someone shouted at him.

"Keep it down, bro," he scolded with a smile. "He's asleep."

Jax was the first to cross the threshold. Carter was the one with the balloons, and there were only two of them. Opie had a bouquet of flowers. Bobby was all smiles. Even Tig looked pretty pleasant, meeting her eyes and giving her an approving nod. They all filed in, shoulder-to-shoulder around her bed in a ring. For a moment, the tide of sadness inside her ebbed as she was completely surrounded by Sons.

And then movement at the door caught her attention. "Hey, Little Bit," a familiar voice said above the chatter of the others.

Carter stepped aside and she realized what her surprise was. Or _who_, more like it. Koz.

**-O-**

Ava knew that of all his brothers, Koz was the one Hap would have trusted the most with his kid. And knowing that, feeling that cosmic Hap/Koz/Seattle connection from her past, she was calm as she passed Sam over to the Tacoma enforcer. It was just the two of them. She'd gotten a little worked up – pre-cry hiccups – and the others had cleared out, Juice lingering in the doorway a long moment. Now she could breathe easier, smiling even, as Koz tucked the baby in the crook of his arm.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said, making a face at Sam. "But he kinda looks like an alien."

"Koz!"

"Well he does," he chuckled. "I'm just trying to be honest. Don't want you to turn into one of those psycho moms who thinks her kids shit sunshine or anything."

Ava laughed at his wide, teasing grin, watching the care with which he tucked the blanket around Sam. "Oh, this one ain't shitting sunshine, trust me."

It felt nice to laugh, nice to let her guard down too. Sitting here with Koz, she was realizing that with Juice, she had her hackles up, even if he was the sweetest man in her life. Guilt squirmed inside her, but it didn't change anything.

"You know," he said, sounding serious for a change. "I never really thought the guy'd have a kid." Koz glanced up at her, face sympathetic. "I know you miss him still, know it eats you up inside, but it's good you've got the little dude here. Hap would be real proud of you."

"Thanks, Koz," she said with a sad sigh.

**-O-**

"Yeah, wait till you're doin' one of those three a.m. diaper changes, then see if you're still smilin'," Bobby said with a laugh, slapping him on the shoulder.

Juice rolled his eyes. He was not going to be talked into a bad mood today of all days. During the night, hunched over awkwardly in the plastic chair, watching Ava and Sam sleep side by side, the fear and doubt had bled out of him. And the plans he'd been making – the ones about Sal Rubio and the fate that bastard deserved – had solidified into something harder than tempered steel. He had a family now. And it was his responsibility to take care of them.

"Hey, changing diapers is no big after Prospecting with you guys," he gave Bobby a meaningful look and the others chuckled.

"You know," Tig mused, faking thoughtful as he scratched his chin. "This works great, cause the baby is literally a day old. And you're mentally a day old."

"Ha! You're fucking hilarious."

"Aww, leave him alone, guys," Opie said, slinging an arm across his shoulders. "He's sensitive right now…he's lactating."

Tara barely managed to hide her smile as she pushed through the crowd of bikers. Juice felt her light touch on his forearm and glanced down. "Hey, doc. Everything okay in there?"

She nodded. "Yeah, they're fine. Having a nice visit…" her smile slipped a fraction. "I wanted to see if I could have a word."

"With me?" The guys rolled their eyes. "Sure. What's up?" It was hard to be frustrated with the doctor – with anyone really – in his current state.

"Let's take a walk," she urged, heading down the hall toward the waiting room.

Juice fell into step beside her, feeling a bit itchy as they rounded the corner and the silence stretched to a point that was uncomfortable. "Um, what did you wanna talk about? 'Cause I don't wanna go too far - ,"

"Ava," Tara said, sliding her hands in her coat pockets and watching the tile as they walked. "I'm sure it's something you've already considered, but I'm worried about a few things. For one, post partum is a huge possibility given her…history…and loss."

"You think she's depressed?"

"I think she has the potential to be. Lots of mothers deal with it, and she's clearly not," she hesitated ", completely happy right now. Ava, Maggie, Gemma, they all shut me down whenever I mention therapy."

Juice sighed and checked over his shoulder for listening ears. "That family of women? They don't take kindly to _professional help_."

"Trust me, I know," she sighed too. "But you're closer to her right now than anyone, I just wanted you to be aware that this is going to be a difficult transition for her."

He nodded. "Being a mom."

"Well…not only that."

Juice glanced at her and met one of those meaningful looks; the ones through which she tried to convey some emotion she thought should have been obvious to him.

"Be patient with her, try to stay positive and don't be too offended if -,"

"How's our girl?" Maggie's voice startled them both. Juice glanced up and saw Ava's mother and Gemma coming down the hall toward them, Styrofoam coffee cups in hand.

"Doing really well," Tara said, coming to a halt as they met the other women head on.

"She's with Koz," Juice explained.

Maggie nodded. "Good."

Juice listened only somewhat as the three exchanged words. He was busy digesting what Tara had told him; or rather, what she'd been trying to tell him. He knew there was a possibility that Sam would serve as a reminder of Happy and that Ava would wrestle with a fresh wave of grief. But post partum? That seemed a little extreme. After all, she'd been doing so well. They'd made such progress in the past few months. She loved him now, wanted to be with him.

He felt a touch on his arm and saw that Tara was walking away. "Keep what I said in mind?" It wasn't much of a question, but more like a warning.

"Yeah," he shrugged as she left them, reaching for the pager clipped to her scrubs.

"Keep what in mind?" Gemma asked, quirking her brows.

_Shit! _He scrambled a moment, not wanting to alarm them that the doc thought something more serious was wrong with Ava. "Soy based formula," he finally stammered, dredging the conversation he'd had with the doctor up at the last minute.

The Queen snorted. "Figures."

**-O-**

Glen had come down from Tacoma too, and he only gave Koz and Ava a few minutes of "alone" time. "All babies look the same," he announced, reaching down to stroke Sam's hand. Koz still held him and he was coming awake, looking up at the men above him with the blank stare of infants who don't know who the hell anyone is. "Just like Winston Churchill."

"Oh, that's not true," Ava protested. "He looks like Hap."

"Yeah," he chuckled ", you keep tellin' yourself that, sweetheart."

And then Koz asked the question she'd been hoping to avoid. "How's Juice been?"

She sighed. "Attentive. Excited. Crazy about Sam."

Koz and Glen exchanged a look at her tone. "And…that's a bad thing?" Glen asked.

"No, it's just strange. And a little complicated."

"Strange how?"

She felt a headache stir to life. "I dunno. It's just…Sam isn't his. And I can't wrap my head around how much he cares when he has no reason to." Which was part of the truth. She left out her irrational anger at seeing Sam in Juice's arms. Everyone would understand her beef with her father, but not her feelings toward Juice. Though she couldn't seem to control them, she knew they were wrong.

The guys both narrowed their eyes at her answer. Glen opened his mouth to speak and was interrupted by a knock at the door. Not surprisingly, Juice poked his head through.

"You doin' alright, babe? You need anything?"

Ava waited for it, but never felt the melting of her insides, the warming of her figurative heart at his show of kindness. She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

He lingered a moment, smiling, watching her, and then stepped back out into the hall.

Koz made a disapproving sound in his throat. "Don't be a bitch to him, Ava."

She recoiled. "What?" A glance to Glen proved him no more sympathetic.

"You have a baby, you have a man, get happy," was the Tacoma VP's answer, and then he thumped his enforcer on the arm. "C'mon, bro. We'll let her get some rest."

Ava gladly accepted Sam again, cuddling the warm bundle up against her chest. She fought them, but she felt sudden tears burning at the backs of her eyes.

**-O-**

Ava spent forty-eight hours in the hospital. Everyone – her grandmother, Caroline, all the guys, some of Lyla's actresses – _everyone _came to see Sam and bring her some little token; a stuffed animal, flowers, boxes of Russell Stover's chocolates. But when she was released, she was more than ready to head home; away from the crowded, sterile viewing platform that had been her hospital bed. She was still sore, damn was she sore, still spotting blood and forced to wear panty liners, but she was much more mobile. Sam was nursing like a champ and perfectly healthy in all aspects.

She eased down into the wheelchair they were forcing her to use and then waited while Maggie settled Sam in her arms. Tara kicked loose the brake and wheeled them forward.

"I'll want to see him in a week," Tara said, voice professionally crisp as she pushed the chair out into the hall. Ava rolled her eyes. "But I've been known to make house calls," she added with a chuckle.

Juice was in the waiting room, Ava's overnight bag slung over one shoulder, the baby carrier/carseat in his free hand. He looked every inch an unorthodox doting father; all the baby gear in the ringed, tattooed arms of a colors-flying biker. It was amusing enough that Ava would have laughed if her stomach hadn't dropped at the sight of him.

"All set?" he asked. He was beaming, excitement etched into his features, and it only unsettled Ava further. This was it; this was them leaving, together, with Sam, to go home where it was just the three of them. Where they'd live as a….family. And what did that look like? Where did it go?

"Yeah," she forced a smile of her own, pulling Sam tighter against her chest until he squirmed. "All set."

**TBC**


	22. Let This Go

**22. Let This Go**

Ava Telford Morales had grown up watching the women around her turn into gushing, smiling putty in the hands of their children. She had heard them coo and warble and make nonsense noises at their babies, had seen the ridiculous faces they made. Becoming a mother stripped women of their dignity, and in some cases, fashion sense, and she had always sworn that would never be her. Because not only had she refused to turn into a fool for a child. But she had also never understood how anyone could become more important to her than the family she already had.

But all of that self-resolve had flown out the window with Sam. Sammy was her _son_, and the words of others had never been able to describe what that would mean to her on an emotional, physiological, instinctual level. He was perfect, absolutely perfect to her. She was lying on her side on the bed, an arm tucked under her head so she was propped enough to see him. Sam lay on his belly, asleep, breathing deeply. In and out. In and out. Alive. Healthy. His lids twitched and his lips scrunched up into a pout as he dreamed. His little fingers flexed. He was a week old and starting to be more aware; very responsive to her and Juice's voices. She loved him more than she'd ever loved anything, which made her feel immeasurably guilty about the love for Happy she still carried. As the mid afternoon sun slanted across both of them, silent tears coursed down her cheeks without reason. She had hid them from Juice and everyone else, but she wondered if this was post partum depression and was too afraid of what anyone would say to seek help for it.

But her funk had been deeper and darker today. She tried to deny the reason behind it, but she couldn't, as she stroked Sammy's arm and watched him sleep. In the middle of the night, she'd bolted upright in bed, feeling like she had overlooked something important. Sam had already had his three-thirty feeding, and a quick check of the clock showed it was only four, so he should have been asleep in his bassinet beside the bed. But the glow of Juice's laptop screen had illuminated his whereabouts. Juice had been awake, pacing slowly around the room, Sam held against his bare chest, humming to the fussy baby.

Ava had staggered out of bed, had taken Sam from him. She had slept, facing the wall, Sam in her arms the rest of the night. Juice had been gone that morning, no note, no unread text on her phone. And she'd breathed a sigh of relief that he'd finally gone to work at the garage. But still she'd cried all morning, not even able to apply makeup. Seeing Juice like that – simultaneously attracted to him, shocked by the paternal gesture and ease with which he practiced it, and furious with herself for not waking when her son needed her – had rattled her to her core.

Every time Juice picked Sam up, or talked to him in that happy, sweet way of his, something dark wriggled inside of her. Bitterness swirled in her stomach and instead of the overwhelming joy she should have felt watching them together, all she could find in her heart was contempt for Juice. Poor, sweet, delusional Juice.

A knock echoed through the house and she knew it came from the back door. Ava sat up and wiped her eyes, hoping they weren't a bloodshot giveaway of what she'd been doing all morning. Then she scooped up Sam without waking him and went to the door. It was Gemma, a white paper bag of takeout in one hand.

"Thought you might be tired of peanut butter and not willing to cook," she greeted when Ava opened the door. "Plus," she smiled and leaned down to stroke the top of Sam's head ", I wanted to see the little man. My boys are gettin' so big, I miss havin' a baby around."

"Thanks, Gem," Ava said, truly grateful as she waved her into the house. The food was Chinese – she could smell it – and hoped none of the spices would make Sam colicky after he nursed later, because the scent of orange chicken already had her salivating, constant devastation forgotten for the moment.

"Here," Gemma set the bag on the counter and extended her arms. "Give him to me and dig in. We'll get some cousin time in."

It felt good to chuckle, if only for a moment. Ava fought the mild surge of panic she felt every time she handed Sam to someone and forced her attention to the Styrofoam containers of chicken and rice. "I'm not sure how you guys are related as cousins," she said as Gemma wandered toward the living room.

"Me neither," she said ", but there's some shared blood in there somewhere."

And there was. One of these days, Ava was going to piece together a family tree, though the task was daunting. She listened with pricked ears as she popped the lids on the food, alert to the little goo-goo-ga-ga noises Gemma was making at Sam. Had any of her feared enemies ever heard Gemma speaking _baby talk_, her reputation would have suffered in Charming.

Ava was grinning to herself and spooning up a big bite of orange chicken when Gemma called her from the other room. "Ava." Not a gentle inquiry, but a command of attention. "Why's the couch made up?"

Her mind flashed to an image of her sofa and the sheets, blankets and pillows she hadn't bothered to put away yet. Sam's first night home, Juice had slept on the couch as per her request, leaving mother and son the bed. Then, the night before, after her mini freak-out over Juice holding the baby, he had gone back out into the living room. He hadn't seemed sour about it, just resolute, but Ava knew it looked bad in the light of day.

Gemma appeared in the doorway a moment later, the gentle way she held Sam clashing with the thunderous look on her face. "You and I need to have a little _chat_."

**-O-**

It was a sweltering day at the garage; the sun reflecting up off the pavement in shimmering heat mirages that left Juice squinting even behind his shades. He was exhausted, seemed to be having trouble chewing his sandwich as he took an early lunch break on top of a picnic table.

Sam was up every two hours like clock work; crying to be fed. And of course the combination of the crying from the bassinet and then Ava getting out of bed woke him. It wasn't that he minded so much as he just wasn't sure how long he could cope with interrupted sleep. His ADD kept him awake half the night anyway, so once he was asleep, he stayed asleep, like the fucking dead. But stirring every two hours disturbed his REM cycle to the point that he was lucky to catch a fitful nap before heading to T-M. Last night, Sam's cries at 4:00 had gone unanswered; Ava had still been passed out, and that's when he'd realized that his lack of sleep was nothing compared to her physical ordeal of only a week prior. So he'd scooped up Sam and checked some emails from outside charter officers, and had rocked the baby, hoping to lull him back to sleep.

In the blue glow of his laptop screen, Ava had looked crazed; her dark eyes huge and her hair standing up at odd angles. She was already dropping the baby weight at an insane pace, so her arms had looked thin and white in the ghastly illumination. He had tried to reason that she was just startled, too tired and disoriented from this routine of waking, changing and feeding. But when she'd pulled Sammy away from him, he'd felt his chest tighten, like that wouldn't be the last time she did that to him…which was a stupid thought because he wasn't having goddamn premonitions or anything. It was just a gut feeling that left him a little queasy, even now in the daylight.

"Hey, kid," Chibs' voice was unmistakable as the table wobbled and the Scotsman joined him.

"Hey."

"You doin' alright? Things good at home?"

"Well, no one's getting any sleep, if that's what you're getting at," Juice said with a humorless snort. The sleep really wasn't his big worry at the moment, but he didn't feel like he could voice that to the girl's dad.

"Healthy, just not so happy, eh?"

He knew it was his lack of sleep doing the thinking for him, that he really wasn't ticked off with Chibs, but in the moment, he was frustrated as hell. Being the go-between and the seat of all Ava gossip was taxing his nerves. And before he could stop himself, the words came up like vomit. "Chibs, dude, it's time you and she had out whatever it is you need to have out. This 'code of silence' shit you two have going on is _really _fucking stupid." He knew he was overstepping before he'd finished speaking; and to his VP no less. He glanced sideways at Chibs, spine stiffening.

Juice expected a lecture, even just a stern look, but all he got was a frown; one that was directed out at the parking lot no less. It seemed that, as of late, all the "adults" in his life were too busy frowning and sighing to be of any help or support anymore. It was a frightening thought that _Jax _and _Opie _were the untroubled, cool heads in the clubhouse.

"Aye," Chibs said. "You're right, Juicy-boy. I failed both my daughters and then the one I picked hates me the most."

And here they went again with the pity party. "You have to make an effort with Ava," Juice said, feeling nothing like the idiot the club tried to label him as. "She's never gonna make the reach, not after she's been hurt. She needs that constant reassurance that you love her."

Chibs looked shocked. Juice shrugged. "I know her, Chibs. What we've got going on now isn't new."

The shocked look quickly turned to one of suspicion.

"Um…yeah…before she was with Hap, she and I -,"

"How fuckin' old was she?" Chibs shouted.

"Whoa!" Juice held up both hands in a helpless gesture. "Never, no way. She was underage and I _never_, bro." _Shit, _he chastised himself, watching Chibs digest the information.

Finally, the Scot sighed and gave him a stern look. "Why the hell'd you let her get away with Happy then?"

Juice didn't care that taking a bite of his sandwich was a classic avoidance technique. Otherwise, he would have admitted that he'd been wondering the same thing for awhile now.

**-O-**

Gemma made the chat process excruciating. She pushed Ava to a chair and then put Sam in her lap, moved around the kitchen for about ten minutes; smoking, making a loud display of putting a Diet Coke and some ice in a glass. When she finally sat down across the table from Ava, her mouth was drawn up, eyes wide. It was a show, all of it. Making Ava wait, pretending to be so pissed she couldn't talk. Straight out of the Gemma Teller-Morrow playbook.

"Let me tell you something about being an Old Lady," Gemma started harsh, but then checked her tone with a sigh, shaking her head. "It's only guaranteed so long as you work at it," she softened – marginally.

Ava nodded.

"No, you don't understand, sweetheart. If you aren't _there _for Juice, in every way, he won't keep you as his Old Lady."

Ava tried and failed to conjure a mental image of Juice with murderous anger etched across his face, yelling at her, tossing her out. He wasn't that kind of guy. Juice didn't do angry. And he certainly didn't leave. "Juice wouldn't -,"

"The club would pressure him," Gemma interrupted. "If you drag on him, then you drag on the club. And they're my boys, and I love them. _You _love them. But the club comes first, and if you pull away, make things difficult for Juice, he won't be able to stay with you. And then where will you be?"

Ava stroked a gentle caress up one of Sam's arms. She had no idea where she'd be. She'd never considered that possibility.

**-O-**

He knew he shouldn't, but Juice couldn't stop staring. Sam was two, nearly three weeks old at this point, but daily feedings for the little guy still got him hard. He was over at the desk in the master bedroom window, sliding his gold rings on one at a time, and shamelessly watching what was going on on top of the bed. This early, before she was strapped into her nursing bra, Ava had pulled off her sleep shirt and sat topless. Her tits were huge and swollen with milk, the nipples red and sensitive looking. He knew that the loving, maternal act of providing the baby with sustenance should have done nothing for him…but he was really horny at the moment.

And then, like it usually did, Ava glanced up and caught him checking out the boob action. Her hair looked almost black in contrast to her pale skin in the early morning light. Her eyes impossibly dark and wide, unsuspecting. Instead of looking away, he felt a smile tug at his lips.

"What?" she asked, brow furrowing.

Her moment of confused innocence reminded him of the old Ava; the one he'd given up while she was sixteen and had lost to Happy. "You're beautiful," he said.

It was slow, and small, but she smiled. "Nice try. What were you really thinking, perv?"

"You're the insatiable one, but I'm the perv."

"The guy's always the perv. It's a rule."

He took advantage of her distraction, walking around to the side of the bed as he shrugged into his cut. He didn't miss – and couldn't stop the twist of disappointment – when Ava averted her eyes, staring down at the baby instead of him as he perched on the mattress beside her. But even without her eyes skipping over his the way they used to, he felt close to her – to them. Sam was gaining weight and getting stronger, eating like a pro. He was proud of the little guy.

"I've got a few minutes 'fore I gotta head out. You want me to watch him while you take a shower?" he asked as she disengaged from the kid and laid him down on the sheets between her open knees.

Ava glanced up, face clouded with an uncertainty he didn't really understand. Yes, she was more attached than most mothers, but he understood that given that he was her link to Happy. Still, it bothered him to watch her nibble at her bottom lip. "I dunno…"

"Five minute shower. You know you'll feel better and you know you won't do it if Sammy's out here alone."

He watched her battle internally, and for a moment, was sure she'd decline the offer. It saddened him, that after all this, she didn't trust him with the kid. _He _was the _real _adult here, she was only twenty-freaking-one after all. But she finally heaved a sigh and nodded, giving him that flat, warning look that had become standard as of late.

"Five minutes," as if she were reminding him not to get too comfortable.

Juice nodded, refrained from rolling his eyes, and scooted over on the bed as Ava climbed off. When the bathroom door was soundly shut, he picked Sam up. There were a lot of things he was still clumsy with – diapers, carriers, those damn onsie snaps – but the picking up thing he had down pat.

"Hey, dude."

Sleepy after eating, Sam's little lids fluttered open when he was lifted up. Juice had been delighted when he'd fussed and cried when Jax had tried to pick him up because now, he stared up at him with wide, dark, unblinking eyes, and looked nothing but content.

It was amazing, really, the gravitational pull the little squirming bundle of baby boy had on him. The month or so before his birth, gossip had flown around the clubhouse worse than at the beauty parlor…not that he'd know anything about that. But Tig and Bobby had talked about responsibility, maturity, and the weight of the situation. Jax and Opie had tried and failed to make him understand the craziness of Ava as a mother – she'd always been a little crazy anyway. But no one had told him that even though DNA separated them, that Sam would feel so fucking…important to him. That when he held him, he wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world. His son. Sam was _his _son, and he would have leapt through fire for the three-week-old boy, biology or not.

Juice tucked him in the crook of his elbow, his head supported up on his bicep. Even without a sun kissed tan, Sam was darker than his mother. He compared their skin tones unconsciously, judged the backdrop of his ink behind the little head with its wispy tuft of black hair. For the very first time, in that moment, Juice knew that the life he held in his hands would inherit a reaper. And that knowledge scared the shit out of him.

"I can take him."

So absorbed, Juice hadn't heard the water cut off. Ava stood beside the bed now, hair wrapped in a towel, dressed in sweats. She extended her arms and her face crimped in a nearly childish expression of demanding impatience.

"Gotta go to work, dude," he told Sam, and dropped a kiss on the infant's forehead before passing him over.

Ava's frown deepened, and she couldn't seem to pull the baby into her chest fast enough. Juice sighed as he climbed off the bed. She was damaged, more so than he'd originally thought, and it broke his heart to watch her struggle. It reminded him that though he was overloaded with club business and home responsibilities – the sleepless nights and constant fretting over his new charge – that there was still something he needed to take care of. Sal Rubio was still out there; and he still needed killing.

**-O-**

"Come see Grammie!" Maggie nearly squealed as she reached for Sam in the baby carrier. "Oh, how's my little man, huh? Besides super fucking adorable. You know,"

Ava sighed and forced a pleasant expression as she plopped into one of the chairs across from the T-M desk.

"…you made the cutest baby on the face of the planet. You've got no idea how excited I am about that."

"Trust me, you say it ten times a day. I have an idea."

The doors leading to the garage bays and the outside world were thrown wide. It was hot, but there was a breeze, and with it came the familiar grease, oil and rubber smells of an automotive shop. The scent was comforting in a way. Ava hadn't left the house aside from taking Sam to his check-ups at St. Thomas. The garage had been a constant in her life since moving to Charming and now she realized that being away had been saddening, even if she was freaking a little bit for no reason at being away.

Across the desk, Maggie was making faces at Sam as she rocked him. "It's almost his four week birthday."

Ava chuckled hollowly. She loved Sam more than life itself, which made all the superficial little things her mother and Gemma found important seem trivial to the point of inducing nausea. How could she put her feelings for her son into balloons, streamers and other stupid shit? Nothing expressed her sentiment correctly. "Four weeks is not a birthday, Mom."

"It's a something!" Maggie insisted. She frowned as she adjusted the blue skull and crossbones onesie Sam was wearing. "I've got him, why don't you go visit your man? I know he'd appreciate the lunch company."

Which was exactly why Ava hadn't wanted to stop by the garage. Gemma had told her what was what – that she would have to play the part of Old Lady or risk being removed from the SAMCRO family – but there was still a hostility toward Juice that she couldn't understand and couldn't get rid of.

She had been fiddling with a hangnail and when she glanced up, met Maggie's stern gaze. "Go see Juice," her mother was firm. "Just a few minutes. Sammy and I'll be fine right here."

Too tired to argue, Ava left the office, unconscious worry over being separated from Sam twisting in her stomach. It was a gorgeous day, one in which she would normally be dressed in as little clothes as possible. But today she was in a baggy t-shirt and men's basketball shorts. She had dropped a lot of her baby weight, but her stomach was still soft; not the flat, toned belly she'd shown off with crop tops her whole life. She felt anything but sexy, and when she spotted two Crow Eaters sitting in a shady spot along the property fence, her self esteem sank even lower.

Cuts drew her attention beneath the overhang of the clubhouse roof. She expected mid-afternoon sparring between Tig and whoever he'd managed to piss off, but as she drew closer, circling around the far side to avoid contact with her father, her mouth fell open with shock.

In the ring, Chibs was surveying a gloved match between Tig…and Juice. It didn't seem aggressive, more like Tig helping to coach the techno nerd. And Chibs was growling and yelling bits of advice. But the Juice she watched block punches and deliver some of his own was not the emotionally distraught, untrained fighter who'd challenged a Utah Son for her honor back in the fall. No, now he knew what he was doing. This wasn't his first friendly match, she realized. He'd been practicing.

Juice had always been able to hold his own in a fight. As amusing as she found it, "regular" townsfolk thought he was "scary" with the head tats and black shades and all. But he'd never been the toughest of the tough when it came to the MC. Not Tig, or Koz, or even Opie. Not…Happy. So Ava didn't understand this sudden need of his for proper fight training.

She did know, however, that seeing him like this flushed her insides. When he held Sam, when he kissed her on the forehead, she fought the urge to slap him. But here, shirtless, sweaty, muscles bunching and rolling as he out stepped Tig's advances, an affection she'd thought dead rose to the surface. And for the first time in months, she felt aroused.

Carter had been standing below the ring, watching the action, and he came to stand beside her. He looked different; rougher. His hair was longer and shaggy, unkempt. He wore a short scruff of a five o' clock shadow now. He seemed older, more outlaw, less like the high school football star she'd known him as. His blue eyes were still kind, though, when he glanced down at her. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," she nodded, still distracted as Juice managed to duck one of Tig's right hooks and landed a solid shot to his face. She cheered silently. "How long's this been going on?"

"Couple months. I was sparring with him for awhile but then he got a little…aggressive."

Ava shot Carter a disbelieving look. "Aggressive?"

A flash of emotion ran across his face, but he covered it quickly. He was hiding something. "Just really getting into the boxing thing, I guess. Your dad's an awesome coach."

The mention of Chibs soured her good mood. She spared her father a look, saw the familiar light in his eyes as he rattled off suggestions. "He was a prize fighter once," she said flatly.

"Really?"

"Long time ago. Before I was born."

She was spared further comment as the match seemed to come to an end. Tig and Juice were smiling as they hugged out the end of the contest as per routine. Juice went to the edge of the ring, picked up the towel hung over the ropes and mopped his face with it, draped it over his shoulders and took a long pull off the water bottle sitting on the edge of the mat. Then he spotted her.

"Hey, baby!" he came to her side of the ring and dangled his arms over the ropes. His smile was one of those proud aren't-I-hot-shit numbers that was too cute to find annoying.

"Hey," she smiled back. "You look good in there."

He ducked between the ropes and hopped down to ground level. The sun slanting beneath the overhang glistened over his slick skin and Ava felt her pulse accelerate when he snatched her up in a hug. He was sweaty and smelly and getting her gross, but she hugged him back, arms looping around his neck. She hadn't thought it would feel so good to be attracted to him and to enjoy his embrace so much.

But then his hands went wandering and landed on her ass. Ava felt a flash of panic. She knew her body wasn't as it was before, when he hadn't been able to keep his hands off her. And the sudden lump in her throat told her she wasn't ready for sex.

"I gotta take a shower," he whispered playfully in her ear. "You wanna come help?"

"Six weeks," Ava protested. "You know I can't do anything until six weeks after."

Juice pulled back and frowned with concern. "I know." He cupped the side of her face and ran his thumb down her jaw. "I just thought it'd be fun. No pressure, just some alone time."

She shook her head. "No. I mean, it would be great, but I should head home. Sam -,"

"Ooh, let me come see him before you go."

And there came the animosity again, rearing up inside her like a snake about to strike. "Just make it quick," she said, forcing a brittle smile. "He needs to go home and be put down for a nap."

"I'll be fast," he assured, letting his arms slip away from her and heading for the office, towel still around his shoulders.

Ava stood a moment, watching him walk off, frustration and anger building inside her to the point she thought she'd cry. Why did she hate this so much? Here he was working out, being "aggressive", and then loving her son as his own. What was that about? Who the hell did he think he was? Happy?

The moment the thought passed through her brain, she knew that was the root of the problem. Purposefully or not, Juice was taking Hap's place. And nothing frightened or irritated her more.

"You okay?" Carter asked, pulling her attention.

Over his shoulder, she spotted Chibs. He was looking at her curiously also. "Yeah," she ground out, heading after Juice. "I'm fine."

**TBC**


	23. Long Cool Woman

**23. Long Cool Woman**

Ava was awakened one Thursday morning by a sleepy, contented sigh and an arm sliding around her waist from behind. Rather than snuggle back against the warm, solid chest, she stiffened as Juice pulled her to him and nuzzled the back of her neck. She knew what the coming day marked because he hadn't stopped reminding her about it. Today was exactly six weeks since Sam's birth. She had the go-ahead to have sex again.

But rather than excitement, she felt dread and anxiety flutter in her stomach as he rubbed a hand over it. Again she became self-conscious of her body. She was back in her regular clothes, but there was a softness about her figure. And she sucked in her stomach as he rubbed at it.

"Morning," he said with a yawn, squeezing her even tighter.

Ava stiffened in his arms, muscles clenched up. If he noticed, he didn't let on, just leaned over her shoulder and dropped a noisy kiss on her cheek.

"So," though still thick with sleep, his voice had a playful edge. "You wanna do dinner first tonight? Really do it up right before…you know…" he chuckled and it sounded like a horny teenager too excited about the prospect of getting laid to even say it.

"Sure," she said quickly, just to placate him. She knew her voice shook and hoped he chalked it up to anticipation.

But instead of accepting her answer and rolling out of bed, his hand ventured south and slid between her legs, fingers stroking at her through the silk sleep shorts she wore. She could feel his morning wood against her ass and panic surged through her. She wasn't ready; she was so not ready for this yet.

"You're gonna be late for work, baby," she said and he groaned, pulling his hand away.

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, propping up on one arm. Ava sighed in relief. "But tonight though. Get dolled up and we'll go out. Any restaurant you want."

"Okay," she forced a smile when he searched her face over her shoulder. He was grinning like an idiot. She felt like a bitch when he smacked her ass and climbed out of bed. Any decent Old Lady would have sucked him off, at least offered a hand job to ease his morning hardness, but here she was hiding under the covers watching him step into the bathroom. When she heard the shower cut on, she went to the nursery to fetch Sam for his morning feeding. She felt anything but sexual as she watched the baby nurse. And anything but ready for sex when she spotted the charcoal portrait of Hap she'd had framed and put on the wall.

**-O-**

Ava positioned Sam's carrier so he faced the back wall of the office and not the big glass window that afforded a view of all that was going on throughout Caracara studios. He wasn't old enough to understand the ungodly things that went on beyond the glass – obviously – there was just a wrongness about a six-week-old being anywhere near the scenes being filmed.

"I think he's a little too young to be corrupted just yet," Lyla said from her desk, chuckling in that high, lilting way of hers that sounded almost child-like.

"Probably inevitable though," Ava sighed, sinking down into the plush visitor's chair across from the head of the porn studio. As she settled in the purple faux suede wingback, she as usual had a hard time assigning Opie's wife with the role of hardass producer. Luann had just _been _a porn queen, but Lyla looked nothing of the part – too sweet and wholesome. On the outside at least.

Lyla nodded and flipped a page in the catalogue in front of her. Then her eyes flashed up, suspicious. "Something tells me that if you came hunting me down at the studio, you were after a particular kind of help," she prodded with a half smile.

Ava made a sideways _ouch _face. "Am I that obvious?"

"Your mom and Gemma for Old Lady advice, Doc for the medical stuff…Sammy's six weeks old today…"

"I know," Ava deflated in the chair. "Yes, okay, I came to you about sex and I feel really bad about stereotyping that way, but I just can't take anymore of Mom's suffocating."

Her grin widened. "She's Super Grandma."

"No shit."

A loud, overdramatic scream of ecstasy echoed against the concrete walls beyond the office and Ava felt the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Lyla snorted. "I can tell it's been awhile." Ava nodded, blushing. "But you wouldn't have come to see me if you were ready to jump on it."

"Yeah, that's sort of the problem…"

**-O-**

"Fifty two…fifty three…fifty four…" Juice grunted when a boot landed between his shoulder blades, but he didn't lose his rhythm, kept his pushup regimen going.

Someone let out a low whistle. "Look at those guns," Bobby said.

He turned his head as he lowered again and saw that it was Tig stepping on his back, providing resistance to push against. He inhaled and jacked himself up again, bearing the weight.

"What's with the Iron Man routine?" Tig asked.

Juice grunted when the Sgt at Arms dug his boot in hard, and pushed up anyway, despite the resistance. "Gotta be ready," he said honestly between breaths.

Bobby groaned. "You know we ain't gonna let you run off and handle this Rubio guy by yourself, right?"

"I dunno," Tig said, voice light. "I think it'd be good for him. Put some hair on his balls…ya know, 'fore he shaves it off."

"Jesus." Juice ducked sideways and rolled onto his back, away from Tig. He made a face as he stood. "Yeah, for Rubio. But I'm not worried about that asshole _tonight._"

He shouldn't have said anything. He had a way of adding an inflection to his words that told the guys he had something he was excited about, and they always picked up on it. "Tonight?"

_Oh, what the hell_. He was anxious and excited as hell. "Sam's six weeks old today," he said with a smug smile.

Tig shrugged, but Bobby understood, nodding. "Ah, a little alone time with Mama?"

Juice glanced down, feigning modesty, but grinned widely. "Yeah. It's been a loooong six weeks."

Tig made a disgusted sound. "You weren't hittin' something else? Pussy whipped dumbass."

"Hey," he held up his hands. "Grill me all you want. Point is, I'm getting laid tonight. And it's gonna be _good_."

**-O-**

At four-thirty, Ava stood in front of the bathroom mirror, in her bra and panties, scrutinizing her body. Juice wanted sex, had said so many, many times – in a sweet way, but still – and she had been truly frigid during her mandatory hiatus; not so much as a blow job or a back rub for the poor guy. She didn't doubt that he'd tapped every Crow Eater at the clubhouse.

The thought soured her further, marring her face with a frown as she turned this way and that, examining her reflection. Liberal use of cocoa butter had prevented stretch marks; she just had a ghost of one over her left hip that was mainly hidden by her smiley face tats. But her ass didn't look as perky as it use to. Her stomach wasn't perfectly flat. She lifted her arms and pinched her triceps, searching for fat deposits that weren't there. She climbed up on the counter and turned around, searching for cellulite in her thighs. She rotated her hips, wondering if anything jiggled more than it had pre-pregnancy.

It was terrifying, really, to contemplate what should have been so natural and what she should have been looking forward to. She hadn't been sweet, warm, friendly…had been nothing but short and snippy with him since Sam's birth. There was nothing to keep him near her; not anything emotional anyway. His only reason to stay would be physical at this point, and what if she couldn't deliver? What if he took her clothes off and laughed at what she'd become? Over the past week or so, his fascination with watching her breast feed had faded. What if seeing the baby at her like that had slowly sapped all the sexuality right out of their relationship?

Lyla had been full of suggestions. And she followed most of them. She put Sam down for a nap and showered. She slipped into the lingerie Lyla had loaned her, swearing it had never been worn by a Caracara girl. It was red; a lace push-up bra, matching thong, and black garter belt with fish nets. Then the denim mini and heather tank that hugged her enlarged breasts a little too tight. Heels. She felt foreign and uncomfortable in her body, not at all sexy. Still, she applied her makeup carefully and curled the ends of her hair in big swirls like he liked.

Washed and shaved and perfumed, she was as ready as possible, but her heart still stuttered when she heard the key in the back door.

**-O-**

Juice thought she looked absolutely gorgeous…though maybe he wasn't the best judge since he was willing to mount a saw horse at this point. But still; she was curvy and stretching all the right places in her clothes. She'd curled her hair. And the fish nets and black pumps were driving him nuts.

But across the kitchen table and the chicken she'd done a decent job preparing, she seemed a million miles away. Ava met his eyes in brief spurts, but then diverted her gaze the moment he locked onto it. She didn't eat, just pushed her food around on her plate and fussed over the wax dripping off the candles she'd lit.

"You know," he said as she caught another droplet of falling wax with her napkin ", you didn't have to go to so much trouble."

She shook her head as she set the napkin aside and took up her fork again. The candles caught the natural highlights in her mahogany hair and the effect was dazzling, but Ava stared at her plate and sighed. "Yeah, I did," she muttered. She closed her eyes. "Shit, I just…" her head snapped up and her eyes flew open, startling him. "Shit! The bread!"

Come to think of it, something _did _smell a little extra crispy Juice realized as she leapt from the table and went to the stove. He turned around in his chair in time to see thick smoke come rolling out of the oven door.

"Just fuck!" Ava swore, fanning the ruined pan of rolls with an oven mitt and coughing as she dumped the mess in the sink. When she turned around, her face was red from the blast of heat, and she dabbed furiously at her eyes.

"Baby," Juice soothed as she flopped back into her chair again. "It's fine."

"No it's not," she was miserable. "I wanted all this to be perfect, and look at it!" she flung her arms up. "It all turned to shit."

"So you burned the bread. BFD. Nothing turned to shit."

"Everything turned to shit!" she protested with a desperation he didn't understand. She gestured toward the table, and then herself. "Dinner, me…all of it."

_Me? _He wondered. What the hell was she referring to herself for? She looked fantastic; tits huge and practically falling out of her top. Her cheeks looked full and she…_oh_. She thought she looked fat. The guys had warned him about this. Jax especially. She was feeling self conscious because they hadn't fooled around since Sam was born and she thought she would be unattractive to him.

"Ava," he grinned, reaching across the table. She moved her hand away, but at least made eye contact. Checked tears had smudged her black eye makeup enough to give it a dramatic flare. "It's gonna be alright, babe. I promise." He held her gaze a long moment, watching her war internally with herself. Finally, she gave him a half nod, but made no move to smile or reach for him.

He had hoped that he would be just as anxious as he was to get back to a routine sex life. But obviously that wasn't going to be the case. That was okay though. She had always been amorous, he could be the initiator this time.

Still, it concerned him a bit when he stood and her eyes enlarged with what looked like…fear.

**-O-**

Each step he took around the table rang in her head; his boots loud as sonic blasts over the finished tile he'd laid in the kitchen the week before. She tried, in vain, to remember that she owed Juice so much; his kindness, the work he was putting into the house, his attempts to help with Sam. But dread pooled in her stomach regardless. All she felt was apprehension as he drew nearer, her anxiety over her body and what he wanted to do to it doubling. Being with him again – skin on skin, sweaty, caught up in her needs and desires – that was tapping into a vulnerable part of herself she hadn't shown since Sam's birth. And wrestling with her new self-image issues would mean giving in to him in a time of emotional turmoil; both of which were things that would bind her to Juice, and divert her from her true purpose. She had to be strong for Sam. She was his only parent, his protector, his link to his father, and she couldn't be Sam's lioness mother and the vulnerable, love-starved girl who'd enjoyed the comfort she'd found in Juice's arms before the birth. No; terrified, pregnant, grieving little girl Ava was gone.

She could smell his cologne and shadow of cigarette smoke as he loomed behind her chair. She started to shiver when his hands settled on her shoulders. He took the signal not for what it was – that she wrestled with clawing his limbs away – but that a sudden desire rippled through her. He must have because he leaned down and she felt his breath on her neck.

"Why you shakin', huh?" his voice was playful before he kissed the side of her throat. He was gentle, just teasing her, and Ava gripped the edge of the table to keep from leaning into the tender touch she hadn't known she'd wanted so badly.

_No! _she scolded herself. She couldn't go down the road of uncertainty and acceptance, couldn't lean on Juice for anything, least of all sex because it seemed to turn her brain to mush. Sam needed her, not Juice, and she certainly didn't need Juice either.

But even so, goose bumps broke out across her skin when he ran the tips of his fingers down her bare arms. And she felt too sluggish to move before he palmed her breasts. Her spine lifted from the chair back involuntarily. They were sore from nursing, but his gentle squeeze brought a whole different kind of twinge – the kind that hurt so much it felt _good. _

Ava gasped before she could stop herself. It was a tiny, breathless sound, but it was the encouragement he'd been hoping for.

"I can't wait to get this off you," his voice dropped an octave in her ear as he flirted with the neckline of her tank. He gave her tits one more squeeze, and then his hands dropped, going for the shirt's hem.

_Stop, stop, stop, stop _she chanted in her head, but she didn't resist, just started breathing in a high pitched pant as he lifted the fabric. She raised her arms, limp and obedient, as he drew the shirt up over her head, and then it was gone and his head was dipped over her shoulder, mouth soft and wet against her collar bone. He cupped her breasts gently from behind, thumbs brushing across lace-covered nipples that strained for the touch. It felt heavenly, and Ava closed her eyes, felt herself getting pulled into the tractor beam of sensual warmth she hadn't realized she'd been craving until this very moment.

But this time, unlike all the other times during her pregnancy, alarm bells rang to life inside her head. She was a mother now; the mother to a fatherless little boy, and she couldn't afford to let herself sway at any little temptation. Juice might have been what she needed before, in her grievous state, but now he was the doofy Romeo who only stood to make her softer, gentler, more vulnerable. No meaningful looks and admonitions to ", stay hard". She was Sam's sole parent – his guardian and protector – and she couldn't let herself get sucked down by a whole bunch of sappy sweetness.

"C'mon," he whispered against her neck. He slid a hand over the swell of one breast and down into her plunging cleavage, his calluses rough over her soft, white skin. She shivered. "Let's go to the bedroom."

"No," she whispered. She turned her head, intending to give him the patented doe-eyed, pleading look, but his face was too close. Her lips brushed against the stubble along his jaw.

"What?" his chuckle was low and overshadowed by lust. "You wanna do it over the table?" Before she could react, he had snatched her up against his chest and was lifting her out of her chair. Ava gasped. "We can arrange that!" He was excited – she could hear it in his voice and feel it against her thigh as he perched her on the edge of the kitchen table. Juice moved both hands to her head and pushed her hair back, smiled cockily at her and then leaned in for a kiss.

Caught between panic and arousal, Ava put her hands on his chest, felt a hardness in his pectoral muscles that was startling, but pushed against him. "Wait…let's go to the bed, okay?" she sounded as if she were begging and it made him frown. She pulled in a shaky breath. How was she going to refuse him if they went to the bedroom? She didn't know how to stop what was happening without being a raving bitch.

"_You need sex," _Lyla had said. _"Sure, for you 'relationship', whatever, but _you _need it too. Sex is part of life. It helps take the bad shit away. It's pleasure in its purest form. We all need sex. You know Juice, he cares about you, and you already know how he is in bed. Just jump in with both feet, sweetie, and I promise it'll be worth it."_

The advice seemed a thousand afternoons away as she sat on the edge of the kitchen table, fingers digging into his pecs, lips inches from his. She ran her tongue over her bottom lip to dampen it and ease the speaking process, and he took it as an invitation, leaning in, bringing their mouths together. He tasted like beer and the piece of Dentyne Ice he'd been chewing before dinner. And he didn't waste any time; rolling her lips between his teeth gently, hands running all over her semi-naked torso.

Maybe – Ava arched into his touch – maybe she did need it. And maybe it could just be about fulfilling a physical need. If all else failed, she could close her eyes and pretend it was Happy. She'd done that before, and she could certainly do it again.

"_Hey, pretty lil' girl," _she pulled Hap's deep, diesel engine voice from her memory bank and felt her body respond immediately. _"You been waitin' on me?"_

"Yeah," she whispered, head kicking back at the remembered feel of his hands on her.

Juice groaned and pushed her back, hand going for one lace cup of her bra. She leaned back on the heels of her hands, knew she knocked over the gravy when she felt the warm liquid against her palm, but was now too hot and stirred up to care.

His breath rushed across her bare skin and she knew he'd pulled her bra cups down, had wedged them under her tits like a makeshift bustier. "Jesus, these are huge," he murmured and then put his mouth to them.

Ava felt her pulse leap into a gallop as he kissed his way down to the very peak, and then ran his tongue over her nipple. The sensation was triple the intensity thanks to breast feeding…

Panic slammed into her and her eyes flipped open the same instant he latched on. She felt the pull, heard the wet sound of him sucking, but instead of the empty action of foreplay, she knew the nourishment her body was providing Sam flowed warm across his tongue. It was far more intimate than any sexual act; it was something that should have been reserved for her child, or even the father of her child, but not the unrelated guy she was fucking. How dare he! How dare he take what was Sam's!

"No!" Ava brought up her knees, catching him in the stomach, and pushed him away. Juice was totally unprepared and went staggering back. He caught himself on the kitchen wall with an open palm and stared at her, wide-eyed and confused.

She hastily rearranged her bra and snatched her shirt up off the floor, fleeing down the hall toward the nursery.

"Ava!" he called after her, but she kept going, ducking into the baby's room.

Sam was asleep, so she scooped him up carefully, cradling him in her arms. He was so beautiful; soft, sweet, precious to her, and she couldn't believe what Juice had done. What she'd _allowed _him to do. Fuck what Lyla had said; her focus couldn't be deterred from Sam right now. Not ever, really. She turned and sat in the rocker, careful so as not to wake him, but tears began in a slow roll down her face.

She watched Sam for a long moment, rocking, before she glanced up and realized Juice was braced in the doorway, hands in his pockets. Pity and frustration battled for supremacy across his face. Ava lifted one hand and dashed at her weepy eyes. She sniffed, but didn't speak.

After a long moment of unbroken and awkward silence, Juice sighed. "So I take it that was the wrong move."

"Yeah."

He shook his head and came into the room, moving slowly as if he was afraid he'd startle her. Still, Ava pulled Sam in tighter to her chest until Juice stopped and leaned back against the crib. He folded his arms. "I'm not some dickhead, Ava. I can take direction. If we're gonna have to take this slower, do it a little differently, I'm up for that."

It was very, very hard to be angry with him when he was so understanding. And sweet. And giving. But she clung to her animosity like a security blanket. "You can't…" she could hardly bring herself to say it "…_drink _from me. That's for Sam and he is my _number one _priority."

"I know that," he nodded. "And now I know about the…other stuff."

"I didn't think you would…"

"Guess I got kinda caught up. It's been awhile."

"Yeah."

"I know you've had to wait and all, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't missed the sex, baby."

Of course he missed it; any red-blooded man would miss fucking. Hell, _she _missed it, on a certain level. Ava stared down at Sam and sighed.

The old floorboards creaked beneath the carpet as Juice stepped closer. She resisted the involuntary urge to flinch when he crouched. He reached, ever so delicately, and brushed the pad of one finger across Sam's cheek. The act was full of such tenderness and care – the kind of which, if she were honest with herself – Ava couldn't have ever envisioned coming from Happy. The knowledge made her hate Juice just a little more, and it broke her heart. Fresh tears formed in her eyes.

"I love you both," he assured. "And yeah, I wanna be with you, but I can wait. If you need to wait longer, then that's what we'll do."

His patience was irritating as well. If she slept with him, she gave into that side of herself. But accepting his graciousness could be just as dangerous. She pressed her lips together when she met his eyes. "No, I just freaked out a bit. I'm fine now."

He lifted his brows. "You wanna try again?"

"Yeah."

**-O-**

Sam woke during their conversation, and Juice left with a weak smile, telling her he'd wait. Ava fed and changed him, the whole time dreading what she'd agreed to. But she couldn't very well go into the bedroom and refuse him again. Of the two varieties of kindness, the sexual was far less treacherous as his emotional understanding. Done with the baby, his little body nestled under his blankets, eyes moving under his lids in sleep, she went to the kitchen and washed her hands. Dabbed a little cold water at the base of her neck. Arranged her hair, and finally went back to the master bedroom.

Juice was laid back on the bed, one arm under his head, playing with his phone. He was down to just his boxers and the soft glow of the bedside lamp highlighted the grooves between muscles that seemed bulkier and more solid, confirming her suspicions that he'd been boxing and working out much more than he ever had. Her stomach did a little flip seeing him – she couldn't deny that she was still very attracted to him, even if she wanted to be angry – glanced away, hoping to hide the blush in her cheeks.

"Hey," he spotted her. She heard the phone get set aside on the nightstand.

Ava spared him a fast look, recognized the smile she knew so well, and felt her pulse accelerate. Slowly, without meeting his gaze directly, she peeled her shirt up and off, arching her back the way he liked, discarding it with a reach-and-drop number that was deliberate and sexy. She felt self-conscious, but pushed the thoughts aside, becoming bolder when he sat up in bed for a better view and whistled softly.

With equal slowness, she unbuttoned her skirt and slid it down her hips, stepping out of it and toeing it off to the side. And then there she stood in the fishnets and garters, red thong and pushup number Lyla had sworn would drive Juice nuts.

It did.

"Hot damn," he murmured, getting up on his knees on the bed. His grin shifted to something downright predatory she didn't remember ever having seen on him. "C'mere."

"_C'mere."_

He didn't know; he couldn't have. There was no way Juice could have been aware that what he said was exactly what Hap had always said to her. The tremors came on instantly and she curled her hands into fists to keep them from shaking. Ava whirled around and retreated the three steps to her desk in the window, inhaling sharply. She couldn't do this anymore. She had spent her time with Sam amping up for many things…but not this. That one phrase had sucker punched her right in the gut.

"Baby," Juice sighed behind her. "What's the matter? You freaking out again? Cause you look absolutely amazing. Smokin' hot. Don't worry about a thing."

The poor idiot had no idea. She took a deep breath or two and then reached to punch PLAY on her iPod dock. "Spaceship" by Puddle of Mudd came pouring out of the little speakers, numbing her anxiety a little bit. She pushed her hair back and then turned around, forcing a smirk she didn't feel.

"Just setting the mood," she assured, and started for the bed.

**-O-**

When Ava climbed out of bed before the alarm to answer Sam's cries from across the hall, Juice pretended to be asleep. He kept both eyes shut and feigned sleeping until she was out of the room and the door was shut. Then he sighed, big and loud as a horse.

He hadn't slept at all. After the debacle that had been their hookup, he'd lain awake, facing the closet door, staring down his own reflection and asking a million different questions he didn't have the answers to.

"_Ow! Stop! Stop!"_

"_What?"_

"_It hurts, damn it!"_

No one had told him that it might be painful for her to have sex again after the birth, or that six weeks might be too soon for her. He hadn't expected the shine of tears in her eyes and her balled up fists against his chest. Or that she'd give up after two attempts and tell him it wasn't going to happen. No smile. No kiss. No motherfucking blow job to take his edge off.

Ava had been a curious, vibrant teenager, always pushing him to take her further. And when she'd been pregnant, she'd been insatiable. But now…she was frigid. And maybe she was in pain and maybe she wasn't ready emotionally, but didn't he deserve _something_? He'd finished the tile work in the kitchen, had set up the nursery, provided for her and Sam financially, and nothing?

Juice waited for her to return to bed after feeding Sam, but he heard the TV come on in the living room and knew she wouldn't be back. Ten minutes later, the clock radio went off, blaring some ridiculous, poppy, boy band sounding song that made him want to claw his own ears off.

It was too much, on top of his night; he couldn't take the goddamn radio. In a sudden fit, he lunged across the bed, snatched the radio off Ava's nightstand, the cord ripping from the wall, and flung it across the bedroom. It ricocheted off the bookshelf – _crack _– and then collided with the side of the desk. _Crack! _It broke into fifteen pieces and lay silent on the carpet.

Juice allowed it a moment of mourned silence before sliding out of bed. He was hard as a redwood tree, and a cold shower was in order.

**TBC**


	24. Three Mississippi

**AN: **Happy New Year everyone!

…

**24. Three Mississippi**

The passage of time in an MC family was always marked unevenly. Like a rock pitched across an open field; moments of soaring broken by hard bounces, breaks, periods of complete peace interspersed with random chunks of violence that threatened to render them apart. Ava had been born into one of those dark times, had been accepted by the love of her life during one of those smashing, crashing plunges against the earth. Sam had been born into stillness; stagnant flight across an open plain with a beautiful sunrise. Time passed slowly for him, and for her, and summer stretched into autumn and reached November at a sluggish rate.

Sam grew and so did his awareness. He knew Juice, reached for him and made frustrated noises when he wanted to be taken from his mother and held by his stand-in father. Ava refused to think of him that way, even if she leaned on him. She picked up a gig at a local magazine; writing bullshit articles about the ladies' garden club and other Charming topics she cared nothing about. But it was a paycheck, and with it she managed to buy at least some of Sam's baby care products; enough so that she didn't feel like a complete drain on Juice's wallet.

Sex was hit-or-miss. Ava reached a point where she could have it, enjoyed it even, but she knew it wasn't often or intense enough to keep him from straying. She didn't ask if he went to Crow Eaters – she knew he did.

Each month, they put a little money aside and used it toward the house. By the fall, the tile was finished in the kitchen, the water faucets replaced, the tub re-grouted, the leak in the attic repaired, the whole house painted.

But underneath the exterior varnish, Ava knew things were unsettled. Juice wasn't the powder keg type, but he was unhappy. But no matter how hard she tried, or how often she found quiet moments of contentment with him, something still tickled the back of her senses and wouldn't let her rest. She supposed, after it was all said and done, that she should have seen it coming. But she didn't. On that crisp November day, she'd had no idea that she hadn't the faintest understanding of heartbreak.

**-O-**

"Baby?"

"Shit!" Ava hadn't heard the back door open and now Juice was halfway down the hall. She warred between pulling her jeans back up and hiding the vibrator, and decided that hiding the toy was her biggest priority. She dove across the bed, rumpling the comforter, and grappled for the drawer pull on her nightstand. She had expected him to stay at the clubhouse after church and not bother coming home; just hang around and wait for the party to kick off. But here he was, no doubt to ask her along like he had for the past two bashes, and she was about to be caught with her pants down – quite literally.

She yanked the drawer and the thing flopped open, threatening to fall out of the nightstand completely. She managed to hook her jeans and panties up over her bare ass with one hand and was reaching to deposit the bright purple piece of plastic with the other, when the bedroom door swung open.

Juice had been about to speak, his mouth was open, but then he froze as his eyes landed on her. It was futile at this point – he'd seen – but Ava closed the drawer and then rolled off the other side of the bed, buttoning her jeans and smoothing her top down in a flustered haste.

"Hey," she said over her shoulder as she buckled her belt. "I didn't think you'd be home till after the party."

It was silent a beat. "Obviously."

Ava tucked her long dark hair behind her ears as she turned, hoping she didn't look flushed. Juice still had one hand on the doorknob and was slack-jawed, staring between her and the drawer. After a long, tense pause, he cleared his throat and stepped into the room. "What's this?"

"What's what?" she played dumb, folding her arms casually across her middle. Inside her heart was racing and it had nothing to do with the self-induced orgasm she'd been on the cusp of when he'd arrived.

Slowly, as if he was afraid it might leap out and strike him, he opened her nightstand drawer and pulled out her vibrator. He held it between thumb and forefinger, wrinkling his nose as if it disgusted him. "A toy?" he asked in disbelief. "You bought a _sex toy_?"

"I got it from Lyla. She had extras in a shipment, I didn't pay for it -,"

"But you had it," he interrupted. He looked hurt. "And you used it."

"Every woman has a vibrator. It's not a big deal."

Just as slowly as he'd pulled it out, Juice replaced it and then shut the drawer. The look he gave her was unexpected; something black and unforgiving. A chill raced through her. "Not every woman has a man who'd fuck her every night either." He turned to leave, glancing over his shoulder at the door. "I'll be back late. Don't wait up."

**-O-**

Juice had a good buzz going. Two shots and three beers in, his head had that heavy feel to it, the one that gave him the sensation of having solid, weighty thoughts. It was the drink combo that left him just inebriated to do something stupid, and just sober enough to accomplish whatever it was. But now, fully intoxicated, none of his ideas _seemed _stupid.

He was sitting outside the clubhouse at a picnic table with some of the other guys, surrounded by metal drum bonfires and sweetbutts all too eager to massage shoulders and fetch beers. He had a brunette playing go-fer for him tonight. Cute, long legs. There was something about her face that reminded him a little of…Ava…and every time he saw the Crow Eater, he saw Ava's sour expression when he'd left her on the bed earlier, flushed and guilty, and it angered him. He hadn't gotten angry when the initial post-baby sex had been slow and painful for her. Or when she'd lost the fire she'd had before in the bedroom. That she didn't reach for him at night or respond to his touch. But tonight, after finding Ava with that _thing, _seeing her with it after she'd stubbornly begged off on every party – on _him – _for writing, and obviously, a goddamn piece of plastic, anger had come to life inside him. And alcohol was only fueling that fire.

"How's the cake?" Opie asked from across the table, and then smiled at Juice's expression of confusion. Ope nodded toward the sweetbutt. "Havin' your cake and eatin' it too tonight, huh?"

It took a moment, but Juice realized he was being ribbed about the attention he was getting considering he had an Old Lady at home. He felt his face harden, his frown heavy. "That'd be none of your business, _bro_," he said as he took a swig of beer.

Laughter chorused around him. "Don't see you stray too often," Jax said. "Things a little frosty at home?"

More laughter.

Juice scowled until it was hard to see, not meeting any of their stares. They were his brothers and they were just sharing a laugh at his expense – something that happened frequently – but it was no joke if a one-percenter couldn't get what he needed from his woman. It was downright disgraceful.

"Hey," Tig said beside him, slapping him on the back. "You don't need that bullshit drama. Getcha some here. The kid knows what happens when you don't keep the home fires burning."

Chibs was absent from the table, which was probably the only reason the conversation had taken this turn, but Juice couldn't bring himself to defend Ava at the moment. "Just, shut up, guys," he muttered, raising his beer again. As he did so, he caught sight of the grins and head shakes of the other guys. No one had ever given Hap those looks, had ever acted like the poor bastard had no control over his woman.

Well, truth be told, _did _he have control? No. Absolutely not. He had always been the jester of the MC court, but now Ava was making him look foolish in an area where he should have excelled. He was a good Old Man, by God. He knew how to treat a woman and take care of her kid. This humiliation was ludicrous. And it was all Ava's fault.

A thought struck him like lightening and he was too inebriated to rationalize it in his head. "'Scuse me," he mumbled, pushing up from the table.

**-O-**

Ava wrote until her mind seized up; a product of general dissatisfaction and the drudgery of the mundane article she was typing. So she shut down her laptop and decided to stimulate her brain with a little reading – since _extracurricular _activities had already landed her in hot water. Sam was sleeping soundly in his crib and she was snuggled in on the couch with a glass of white wine, rereading _The Time Traveler's Wife_, when she heard a Harley engine out in the drive.

She checked the time on the DVD player – 10:15 – and didn't have to wonder too long as to who had returned when the bike shut off and the voice became audible. Juice was ordinarily a happy drunk, but the calls of "Ava!" coming from the carport sounded anything but. She was halfway out of her seat when the back door opened with a bang.

"Hey, Ava!" he wasn't slurring yet, which meant he was just intoxicated enough to do something stupid, but still had the wherewithal to fulfill whatever it was. She walked around the coffee table and met him as he swaggered into the living room. The smile on his face wasn't his – it was almost Tig-like – and it was just a little bit frightening. "S'up, baby?" he asked loudly, rocking forward on his feet. "Your loverboy came home! Or…wait…" he paused for effect ", you've already gotten off." His smile slipped and in its place, a dark scowl marred his face. "I'm the only pathetic douchebag around here who can't get any!"

She held up her hands. "Juice -,"

"Nope," he brushed past her, knocking their shoulders together. Ava staggered a step. "You're done talking, little girl."

Ava watched, shocked, as he headed down the hall toward the bedroom. Fear licked through her and it was twice as terrifying because she'd never before associated that emotion with Juice.

He was back in an instant, something clenched in one fist. "I've been soooo patient," he said, voice too loud. "And I thought you just couldn't deal with the sex." He opened his hand and revealed her purple little vibrator. "But you're still the same little slut you always were!"

"That's not fair," she bristled. "I -,"

"Fair? You wanna talk fair? _This_," he gestured wildly between them ", is what's not fair! I want some ass, goddamn it! And you're my Old Lady…where's the fucking ass? Huh?"

"You're drunk and you're being ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous," he yelled ", is that you could have all this," he swept a hand alongside his torso to indicate himself ", and instead you choose this fucking thing!"

Angry tears sprang to life in her eyes. "Oh, don't flatter yourself."

"I'm gonna flatter myself as much as I goddamn want!" She watched, too nervous to move, as he dropped the toy on the floor and then stomped on it, bringing the thick heel of his boot down on it over and over again, until it finally cracked and split under the blows. "Ha!" he threw both arms in the air, victorious. "Whatcha gonna do now without that shit?"

"I guess I'll just go without."

That was the exact wrong thing to say. He charged toward her, and her Lawson pride wouldn't allow her to get the hell out of his way. "Do you know what Tig would do to you? Huh? If you didn't fuck him enough?" he yelled, veins popping in his neck. "What Kozik or Happy would do to you?"

"I don't know!" she fired back. He had come to an abrupt halt in front of her, was breathing so hard his whole body shook. "You gonna be some macho badass and show me?"

Ava tensed, waiting, watching the wild light dance around in his eyes. And then he struck. She curled her fingers into claws and tore at his arms before she realized that he wasn't trying to hit her. His hand dove into the hair at the back of her head, caught a fast grip, and held her still when he brought his lips down on hers so hard their teeth knocked together. Ava squealed and the sound was muffled, tried to push him off, but he was too strong, and she lost all hope of resisting when his free arm banded around her middle.

She was furious. But his mouth was hot and demanding, bruising her lips, sucking and tonguing her until she had no choice but to be pliant. She sunk her nails into his arms, angry, but feeling the hardness of muscle and the smoothness of skin she'd denied herself for so long because she was trying to be strong for Sam, and trying not to give into Juice.

But this felt nothing like the Juice she knew. This was a hot, angry, passionate assault against her body and senses…and suddenly she was throwing herself into it too, kissing him back, pawing at his cut and shirt.

He was tearing at the button on her jeans and was reluctant to raise his arms enough to let her get his shirt off. Seams tore and they both stumbled as they struggled to get undressed. Their mouths slammed together again and again with sticking, wet sounds.

Ava grabbed his cock and stroked hard. It stood proud, reaching up toward his navel, and felt thick as her own wrist in her palm. She wanted a hard grind, but knew sucking him a bit would reward her when he got excited and used the energy with each thrust, but he didn't give her time, pulling her toward the hall to the bedroom.

They didn't make it far. With a growl, Juice put her up against the wall. She put her palms out for support, readily widening her stance when she felt his hand go between her legs. She was wet, and his fingers slid over her skin. He made a low sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat and Ava gasped at the touch. She was too turned on to deny how delicious it felt. She rested her temple against the wall and arched her back, popping her ass.

"You remember how it's done?" he asked roughly in her ear. She felt his hard nipples at her back. His cock rubbed up and down against her ass with the aid of his hand.

"Yeah," she breathed, reaching around to try and get a feel of him again. Cold, immovable plastic was nothing like the real thing, and she was remembering that now. But he swatted her hand away, moving his cock between her legs, letting her feel the length of him against her slippery skin.

"Good as your toy?" he asked.

"Better."

"Beg me for it."

A shiver ran through her. "Please."

He squeezed her ass. "More."

"Pleeeeease," she whimpered. "God, Juice, please…"

She felt the head of his cock maneuver into position, stretching her opening, and then he slid inside.

The discomfort lasted only a moment before her body accommodated him, and he wasted no time establishing a rhythm. Ava grappled for purchase against the wall, eyes shut, body absorbing the pounding strokes of his hips. She felt his face at the back of her neck, his chest at her back, like he was trying to touch every inch of her, and it pressed the edge of her cheek against the wall until it was uncomfortable. But a little pain couldn't overshadow how incredible he felt working inside her.

Fueled by bitterness, alcohol, and anger, Juice didn't last very long. She felt his body clench, heard his grunt as he came. She, however, was nowhere close, and made a desperate sound when he pulled out of her. But then she felt herself tipping backward; he went down to the floor and pulled her with him, squeezed her thighs hard enough to leave hand-shaped bruises as he split her legs and set her straddling his lap. He leaned back against the wall and lifted his knees just enough to give her a perfect seat.

His face was contorted; half pleasure, half pain. "Ride me."

And she did; her hands braced on the wall either side of his head, dark hair falling around them like a curtain. Her breasts were in his face and his hands clenched tightly to her ass. Urgent and reckless, this time she did cum, and then felt herself being moved at his mercy yet again. Her fingers threaded through the carpet fibers, knees burning from the friction, he bore down on her like an animal and she loved every second of it. Screaming, body and mind, and not wanting it to end.

**-O-**

Ava woke to an insistent knocking. She had been pulled under the veil of sleep out of sheer exhaustion, but came awake easily with a start. Her muscles grabbed as she shifted, and that's when the reality of what had happened, and where she was, slammed into her. She lay on her stomach, one of her arms asleep because it was pinned beneath Juice's chest. He was face-down beside her on the hallway carpet. Both of them were stark naked. She saw scratches on his back and arms, could feel her own bruises forming.

The pounding continued and Ava rolled from beneath Juice with a groan. He snorted and grabbed at the air like he was reaching for the covers they hadn't been under, but remained asleep. The only other times she'd seen him this drunk, he hadn't been awakened until much later the next day.

"Hello?" she heard a muffled shout through the front door and cursed as she pushed herself up on wobbly legs. Damn, he'd fucked her good. Her knees hurt from where they'd bumped into the wall repeatedly.

Leaving Juice naked in the hall, she fetched her robe from the bedroom and cinched it up tightly, catching the time on the wall clock as she returned to the living room and went for the door. It was just after two a.m., so she had no idea who could be at her door. A look through the peep hole revealed the knocker, and Ava frowned as she cracked the door and poked her head through.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Chief?"

In the glow of the porch light, Hale looked more than a little cranky. "Ava," he greeted with a nod. "Everything alright tonight?"

She sighed and rested her head against the edge of the door. "It's fine, Hale. And as far as I know, I didn't call the cavalry."

He shifted a bit uncomfortably, hands resting on his gun belt. Beyond him, the lights on top of his Jeep revolved and threw flashes of color across the neighboring lawns. "I got a domestic disturbance call. Someone heard yelling and I recognized the address over the scanner. Thought I'd come check on you."

"It was those damn Jansens next door…look, Chief, I appreciate the concern, but the 'neighbors' are nosy as hell and we had a window open. Nothing to worry about."

She started to step back inside but Hale caught the door. He gave her a searching look, gaze lingering over her cheek. "You sure you're okay, Ava?"

She narrowed her eyes, anger bubbling inside her. "What's with all this interest in me? Before, when you arrested me…now…what's it to you?"

He let out a loud breath. "You're more like Gemma than your mother; too stubborn about who's on which side of the law to see when someone's just asking a question as a friend."

She snorted.

"Guess I just feel guilty about what you've been through," he said, backing away. Admitting defeat. "None of us were able to prevent what happened that night…so I guess we keep trying to hold you up." He offered a non-smile. "Close your window next time. Night."

Ava stood, stunned, and watched him go down the porch steps and across the street to his parked Jeep. When he was gone, she closed and locked the door, and then walked slowly through the living room. She caught her ghostly reflection in the decorative wall mirror above the recliner and saw the shadow of a bruise on her cheekbone – where she'd been pushed up against the wall.

_None of us were able to prevent what happened that night._

She sank slowly into the chair, eyes moving to Juice who still slept in a heap on the floor, unconscious to the world. The darkness that had desperately been trying to claw its way out of her for months roared in her ears.

_None of us were able to prevent what happened that night._

Everyone had told her that Hap had been alone in the stairwell when he was shot. But Hale, in his bumbling, well-meaning way, had just revealed something very important to her. Someone had lied to her. No, scratch that, they had _all _lied to her.

**-O-**

"Oh, fuck." Not ten seconds awake and the alcohol demons were turning the screws on Juice's headache. He pushed up on his arms and immediately regretted the decision when the world tilted around him. He groaned and closed his eyes, letting his forehead slump to the floor again. Without looking, he tried to take inventory of his condition. Hungover; obviously, but he also seemed to be on the hall floor, face-down in the carpet. And judging by the prickling of goosebumps all over his body, he was also naked.

The night returned to him in fits and snatches as he finally struggled to his feet and lurched down the hall to the bedroom. The club party, the drinking, smashing Ava's toy, practically assaulting her. It hadn't been violent; even drunk, he would never have forced her. No, he could clearly remember her pleas to continue, the way her animal rage turned into sexual heat. It had been brutal, hot and heavy Caracara stuff, but the thought of it left him sick this morning. Or maybe that was just the hangover. Whatever.

He showered, brushed the cotton taste out of his mouth and used a half a bottle of Visine trying to put some life back into his bloodshot eyes. Throughout the process, he became more and more concerned about the fact that he hadn't seen Ava yet. He couldn't recall whether they'd collapsed together, but he hadn't seen her in the bedroom. And as sore as he was, she had to be pretty well banged up too.

Juice shook his head as he reached across the counter and plucked his razor out of the cup where it rested along with his toothbrush. September had marked a year since he'd moved into the house. He'd gone from a bachelor with his clothes hanging on the backs of chairs to dry to full-on family man. But deep down he didn't feel settled. He loved the idea of what he'd become. But on an emotional level, Ava had never really let him in. He was forever walking on eggshells and he feared that last night might be the final straw. If she couldn't shake off what had happened, if they couldn't get back to a place of hugs and kisses and sweaty nights between the sheets…well, he didn't know what he'd do, but he couldn't keep living like this. He resented her now. Was angry just looking at her sometimes because she was beautiful and he loved her completely, but her heart had grown ugly and she'd shut him out at every opportunity. Happy had known that the teenage games he and Ava had played had not been games, and that given the chance, Juice could be her Old Man – he'd been cunning in his choice of replacements that way – but Ava refused to allow for the natural progression of things. She clung to Hap's memory, and pushed him away. Juice knew – though it pained him – that if she pushed any harder, he couldn't stay. He was too bitter these days, too hurt by her every nasty look to just shut up and take it anymore.

He pulled the razor across his cheek quickly and he felt the sharp sting of the blade nicking his skin. He winced and watched blood well up out of the cut. Something Happy had told him came back to him at the crimson image. _"She gets in your blood." _He had never understood that…but now he did. Ava was like a drug; like a narcotic pumping through his veins. As addictive and cruel as she was desirable. The high was sweet enough to keep him coming back, even if she was slowly killing him. She hadn't always been that way. She hadn't even been that for Happy. But grief had warped her and for him, she was black tar heroin. And he could never say no to the next fix.

Juice found her in the kitchen a few moments later. She sat at the table, dressed in short cutoffs and a white long sleeve tee, both hands wrapped around a coffee mug. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, clean and shiny at the crown, a few loose strands framing her face. Along the ridge of one cheekbone, he saw the blue blush of a bruise – where he'd pushed her against the wall no doubt. Her bottom lip looked a little puffy and he knew it was from his gnashing teeth during their kiss. "Hey," he said carefully.

No response.

"Look, about last night…that shit was stupid. I know that wasn't the way to handle things."

Ava glanced up with deliberate slowness, her dark eyes sweeping all the way up from his toes. She blew the steam off her coffee and took a sip. "Hale came by," her voice was calm. "About two fifteen this morning."

It was a trap, he knew it. "What'd that asshole want?"

She shrugged. "Jansens called us in for being loud. No big." He hesitated, not sure if he should enter and scrounge up breakfast. He had one foot across the threshold when she spoke again. "He said something that caught my attention."

Juice waited, not taking the bait.

"He said he felt guilty about what went down with Hap." She lifted her brows. "Something about none of you being able to 'prevent what happened'."

_Oh shit. _It felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. _Goddamn you, Hale, can't keep your fucking mouth shut…_

"You have any idea what he's talking about, _baby_?"

"No," he lied, feeling his hands start to quake. It had been a year, a whole goddamn year, and after all that had happened, after they'd all been so careful to keep the senseless, heartbreaking truth from her, Hale had ruined it all with one comment. He couldn't believe this was happening. His headache throbbed.

"Because," Ava went on, her tone becoming accusing the way Gemma's might. "You guys told me Hap was alone when he died. That you found him dead. But Hale was there? Did you all lie to me?"

"Ava -,"

"Who was there when he died?" she demanded.

Juice took a deep breath and held up both palms. "This isn't important. Hale's just a douche and he -,"

"Tell me!" she yelled boldly. She slammed her mug down, coffee slopping all over the table. Her eyes were dark and furious. "I deserve to know, goddamn it! Who was with Hap when he died? How did it happen?"

He felt the protective layers of love and sympathy peeling back from his anger, leaving it raw and exposed. He had tried to protect her from what had been eating at him, but she was still damaged and still spiteful. Who knew…maybe the truth really would set her free. Either way, he wasn't sure how to keep it to himself anymore. She would go to Tig, to Bobby, someone else, Hale probably, and get the extended version of what had happened that Godforsaken night in the stairwell when Sal Rubio had taken Happy's life.

"Alright!" he raised his own voice, cutting off whatever else she was about to say. "But don't say I didn't warn you – you don't really want to hear this."

"Just tell me."

Juice sucked in a deep breath, steeling himself against her reaction, and met her stony gaze. "That night…Jax had us split into pairs. He was with Ope, Tig was with Carter, Chibs was with Bobby in the van…and I was with Hap."

She stiffened in her chair, eyes enlarging.

"It was just sabotage, take the documents we needed from the warehouse. Fucking Hale…tried to talk Jax into turning the guys over to him, 'justice system' bullshit and all that." He shook his head. "We tried to get in and out before Charming PD showed up and we thought the stairwell was clear. Hap and I came around the corner…this guy…he was right there. Hap took the shot under the arm. It was fast." One more deep breath. "I did everything I could, Ava, but the shot was fatal. Hap died in my arms."

**-O-**

Ava growled – a high pitched inhuman sound of combined fury and grief – and hurled her mug against the far wall. Coffee went everywhere and the ceramic shattered. He'd lived in her house, had slept in her bed, had held her child, and all the while he'd kept that secret. There were no words, but she dredged some up anyway, shrieking until her throat burned.

"I trusted you! All this time…all this…I _trusted you_!"

Juice had his head tilted down, eyebrows raised in one of his patented looks. The sight of him repulsed her. In her mind, she painted his hands – that had had been on and inside her, had touched her son – with Happy's blood. "I know you're angry."

"Angry doesn't even begin to cover it!" She bolted out of her chair, sending it crashing down onto the tile. The sound was like a gunshot. "You told me he was alone! And I believed you!"

"I didn't wanna hurt you for no reason."

"You didn't want to look guilty!" she screamed. "You sat there and let him _die_, and you're such a selfish asshole you didn't want me to hate you for it!"

His face hardened but she didn't heed the warning. "That's too far," he said through gritted teeth.

She didn't listen, was too busy shaking her head, fighting the swell of panic in her chest she had no idea what to do with. An ugly, black thought struck her. "Oh, God. Oh _shit. _Did you…you did, didn't you? You _let _him go. 'Cause you wanted me."

"Don't flatter yourself," he snarled, throwing back her words from the night before.

"No! You didn't do a goddamn thing. Hap's dead because you didn't even try to save him! Happy, _my Happy _is fucking _dead_. Sam's father is _dead_! And you didn't do shit to stop it from happening!"

Juice's face went on lockdown, became dangerous, cheeks pulling tight over bone and jaw squaring. "Why would I do that?" His voice was low and rough. "Why the fuck would I do that, Ava?"

"Because you wanted me for yourself!" she knew it was insane, but couldn't keep from saying it. She was too infuriated, too wounded to stop the crazy train running through her head.

"You think I wanted to see you hurt like this?"

"Got you what you wanted, didn't it?" Tears were pouring down her cheeks at this point. Her body shook as she moved around the table to get toe-to-toe with him.

"Listen to yourself, you crazy bitch! You've lost your goddamn mind if you think there's any truth to that."

"I'm _not _crazy! You have no idea what I am."

"No one but Hap knows, right? He the only one knows how to handle you?"

"Don't bring him into this."

"Why not, he's all you goddamn think about!"

Ava reached her internal boiling point. Rage cracked open, flooding her system. "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!" she thumped him in the chest with both hands, ignoring the way his eyes narrowed. "You don't deserve to mention him, you _murderer_! I wish it'd been you instead! It shoulda been you!"

Her voice echoed and was magnified inside the little kitchen. The following silence was heavy, oppressing, and Juice looked malevolent like she'd never seen. Ava didn't care; her chest heaved and tears ran and she hated him in the moment. His silent, seething fury made him all the easier to loathe. She wasn't frightened, not by him. No matter how thuggish and intimidating he had the ability to look, bottom line, Juice was just an idiot.

"You want it like it was?" he spoke so softly she barely heard him. "Like before I moved in? Like when Hap was alive?"

She didn't answer.

"Fine." He stepped around her and went to the counter. With one sweep of his arm, he sent the coffee maker, the toaster, and the blender – all purchases she'd made with his money within the past year – crashing to the floor. Glass shattered.

"You asshole," she hissed.

He ignored her, going silently into the living room. Ava followed, but not fast enough. With a strain of corded, thick-veined arms she didn't remember being so big, he pulled the TV off its wall mount, and then kicked the screen until it cracked.

"Stop!" But his rampage only intensified. Pictures, knick-knacks; anything that had been added to the house since his move-in was thrown to the floor, broken, shattered. There was glass everywhere. Ava followed, fear blooming to life and then mounting as he went down the hall to the bedroom. She had never seen him like this; hadn't thought him capable, and the worst part; he was calculating and calm about the destruction. She thought he was going to the master bedroom, but when he turned toward the nursery, panic licked through her. After what he'd done to the appliances, to her mementos, the TV…and now he was going into the baby's room.

"No!" she leaped at him, fingers shaped into claws, willing to do anything to keep him from Sammy. She was terrified, adrenaline coursing through her veins at the very thought that Juice would do such a thing. "No!"

He brought up a hand, deflecting her, and it sent her stumbling back. Ava ran into the dresser and went down on her knees, too off balance to stay upright. She knocked her head against a drawer pull, but ignored the pain, scrambling to get to her feet.

Juice had Sam – she was too late – but he held him against his chest, hand cradling the back of his head.

"Don't hurt him!" she pleaded, feeling crazed.

She stood, finally, and that was when she saw the wetness shining in Juice's eyes. He held the baby close, chin resting on top of his blue fleece beanie. "I'm saying goodbye to my son," he whispered fiercely. "You at least owe me that. I can't believe you think I'd…" he couldn't finish, closing his eyes and hugging Sam tight.

Ava's knees started knocking together so hard she could no longer stand, so she sank into a crouch, circling her arms around her legs as she watched the biker wrestle with his emotions.

Finally, Juice kissed Sam on top of the head. "Love you, little man." He set him gently back into his crib and walked past without sparing her a single look. "Have a nice life, Ava."

She sat, weeping, and listened to him walk out. The back door slammed, his bike roared to life, and then he peeled out of the drive, loud as thunder. She stayed like that for a long time, too weak to get up.

**TBC**


	25. Gone

**AN: **Hope everyone had a wonderful New Year! Thank you so much for the continued reviews!

…

**25. Gone**

"Ava? Baby?"

"She's been like that since we got here," Tux's Idaho drawl was tinged with nervousness. "We tried to get her to talk but she ain't sayin' nothin'."

Maggie crouched in front of her daughter and put a hand on one bare, bruised knee, growing more alarmed by the second. "Ava." She shook her gently.

Slowly, Ava lifted her head from where it rested on her folded arms. She was in a crouch, holding raised legs that were tucked into her chest. Sam was fussy in his crib and the young mother didn't seem to take notice. Her cheeks were tight and shiny from tears, eyes red, but dry. One cheekbone was brushed with a faint bruise. Her lower lip appeared swollen. But Maggie was so grateful that she finally made eye contact.

"Hey, sweetie," she reached and tucked a strand of hair back into place. "You doin' okay?"

"Yes," Ava's voice was even and flat. Maggie stood when her daughter did also, dusting imaginary dirt off the seat of her cutoffs. "Fine. I gotta check on Sam."

She crossed to the crib and Maggie watched, frowning, as she leaned down and picked up the baby, rubbed his back with soothing circular motions.

"You wanna talk about it?" she asked after a moment of debate.

Ava glanced over, face blank, and tilted her head in question.

"The fight you had with Juice."

"It wasn't a fight," she corrected. "He left."

"Well he sure as shit left a mess out there!" Maggie put her hands on her hips. "But he didn't _leave_. You said shit you didn't mean, he stormed out…it happens."

"No, Mom," Ava glanced down at Sam. "He _left_."

"Um," Tux cleared his throat and Maggie gave him a sharp look. He was worrying his hands together. "He asked Carter and me to come get his stuff."

"All of it?" Ava asked, whipping her head in his direction.

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"See?" When she turned back to Maggie, her eyes didn't even seem connected anymore, as if she were hundreds of miles away from where she now stood, holding her son. "He's gone."

**-O-**

Slayer was the soundtrack to Juice's footfalls down the residential streets of Charming. Left-right-left-right-left-right…on and on he ran, far from his departure point at T-M. The volume on his iPod was cranked all the way up and he had the black hood of his sweatshirt pulled down nearly to his nose. He was too hot – sweat poured down his back – but it was better this way. Sweat went hand in hand with pain; which he felt every step but had nothing to do with the pounding of his Nikes against the pavement.

His legs burned and his lungs ached, but his breathing was steady. In and out. Stable. Regulated. Calm.

But he couldn't outrun what he'd done. And the thrash metal couldn't drown out Ava's words that still rang in his head. _I wish it'd been you instead! It shoulda been you! _

People said horrible, hurtful things in the throes of impassioned fury…but he knew Ava. He knew it wasn't just meant to wound, but to kill. Because that was how she really felt. She wanted him gone, well he was done being her lap dog. He was gone, baby, the train had left the fucking station.

But it hurt so bad because he couldn't stop thinking about Sam. Or the way she looked first thing in the morning when she was still asleep. How her fingers twitched across his skin. So he ran, as hard and as long as he could. And when he was too winded to stand up, he would unscrew a brand new bottle of Jack from behind the bar and drown the memories he couldn't burn off with exercise.

**-O-**

"A'ight, time out," Jax waved his lit cigarette, cutting off the babbled explanation Carter was trying to deliver. He sighed. "As _entertaining _as it is, I'm about goddamn tired of the Ortiz-Telford _Lifetime _movie of the week. So make this short and sweet how 'bout it so I know which one of the idiots to be pissed at this time."

The comment earned chuckles, but they were hollow. Chibs didn't comment, cocking his head to the side as he waited for an answer.

Bobby finally stepped up, sighing. "What I gathered from Juice's whirlwind routine through here is that some kinda end-of-the-world fight went on at their place."

Jax rolled his eyes. "As in the princess pitched another fit?"

"As in he told her 'frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn'."

"He walked?" Jax's eyes bugged. "You serious?"

"Said he was done, man," Tig piped in with a shrug. "Can't say I blame the poor bastard. We've all seen this coming for awhile now."

Jax nodded as he took another pull on his smoke. "Yeah. Somebody keep an eye on him, though. Don't want him slittin' his goddamn wrists or anything." He glanced over at Chibs. "You gonna go check on her?"

"Christ," the VP ran a hand through his hair. "Aye. Figure her mum's over there. Best go see how she's takin' it."

**-O-**

The problem with carpet was that it hid glass really, really well. And the slightly shaggy, neutral tone stuff in Ava's living room made it difficult to locate and then delicately extricate the thousands of shards of glass that had once been a vase full of silk flowers, the panes of a half dozen picture frames, and of course, the Vizio flatscreen she hadn't paid a dime for. Calmly, methodically, she used a flashlight and her fingertips to clean up the mess, depositing the fragments into the waste basked she'd nicked out of the bathroom. Maggie had stayed, though unasked, and was doing the same in the kitchen, only with the tile, could accomplish the task much faster with a broom and dust pan.

Ava searched for a label for her serene internal state, but thus far wasn't able to come up with one. Her heart thumped slow and regular in her chest. Her palms weren't damp and her breathing wasn't choppy. She kept saying the phrase _Juice is gone _over and over in her head, wondering if it would trigger some panic attack kin to Hap's passing, but it didn't. And even though Maggie kept refusing to believe that it was anything more than a nasty fight, she knew the truth. Juice wouldn't be coming back. No more puppy dog smile, no more cuddling and her being excused for her behavior. She had broken him, finally and truly, and he wouldn't return.

The burglar alarm chimed as the back door opened and Ava recognized the heavy tread of boots. Alarm piqued only a moment before she recognized her father's voice, and then she felt her anger flare. She glanced up a moment later when Chibs stepped into the doorway of the living room.

"Hey, darlin'," he said softly. "How you….holy shit." He came across the room in just a few strides and she stood, defenses up. "What the hell happened to your face?"

The bruise on her cheek was darkening and her earlier tears had ruined her makeup, leaving it all the more visible. She leaned back when he made a move as if to touch her. "It's nothing." Because no way in hell was she telling her father that the mark had been caused while her Old Man – her _ex _Old Man – had fucked her from behind up against the wall.

"Did he…?" Chibs' face twisted to the side, like he couldn't believe what he was about to ask.

"No," she said dismissively and turned around, picking up the wastebasket. "You know he's not like that. Even when he's mad."

But as she moved to walk past him, on a mission to dump the glass she'd already picked up and return for more, he caught her upper arm. And even if he was well out of habit in the ring, her father was still a strong man. She couldn't shake him off and settled for glaring at him instead.

"I can handle broken TVs," he said. "But I won't have as asshole lay hands on my daughter. Did he hit you, Ava?"

"No," she repeated. This time when she pulled away, he let her go, but followed her into the kitchen. Maggie was wiping down the counters needlessly; they were already clean, and made a good show of pretending she wasn't looking at them.

"What -," he started to ask and she whirled around, not able to contain it any longer.

"Was it a club decision?" she asked, tone caustic.

Chibs frowned and Maggie looked up from her pretend chore.

"Did you all decide to keep the way Hap died a secret from me? Or was that Juice's brilliant plan?"

She saw the resignation in his eyes; it never took long for Chibs to bow out of their confrontations. He had never, and would never, fight for her. "Aye. Club decision."

Ava nodded. "Figures you'd all protect him."

"Time out," Maggie interjected. "Protect who?"

"Juice," she glanced over at her mother. "Somehow, everyone failed to mention that Hap _wasn't _alone when he died. Juice was with him. Juice _held him_."

Maggie's eyes went wide as saucers.

Chibs scowled. "The boy's all fucked up over it. And you, you crazy little shit, can't see that _no one _else woulda put up with ya all this time. Juicy-boy…he loved ya…and you fucked it up, lil girl."

She opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off. "It was a _club _decision and the _club's _fault your man's dead. And you ain't in a place to question that. You know what happens. You know how The Life is."

He stormed out without looking back and for the second time that day, Ava found herself too heavy to stand. She sank into one of the kitchen chairs and just stared off at nothing. After a long moment, Maggie picked up the wastebasket, dumped its contents into the larger garbage can, and retreated.

"I'll finish the rest."

**-O-**

Chibs waited on an oil drum, leaning back against the clubhouse wall, and watched Juice come in at the gate. It was business as usual at the garage, save for the kid, and now save for him as he let the other biker approach.

Juice was in black basketball shorts, black Nikes, and a gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. The white earbuds of his iPod dangled loose out of the mouth of the hoodie, banging against his chest as he walked. He was sweat soaked and breathing hard – had probably run to damn Lodi and back – and looked like he was barely able to put one foot in front of the other. He headed straight for the clubhouse door, not looking to either side.

Chibs stood and intercepted him. "Hey, kid."

He expected any number of expressions, but somehow not the enlarged eyes and tight mouth of someone who looked about ten seconds away from orchestrating a school shooting. With his hood up, and nothing but his face and a tiny square patch of mohawk visible, it was easy to forget the affable moron that he was, and mistake him for someone far more sinister. "Guess you heard," not a question.

"Aye." Chibs swallowed the impulse to keep from inflicting more damage to the poor idiot, and pressed on with his question. "Went by and saw her." He brushed a finger along his own cheekbone, right above his scar. "Girl's got a mark -,"

"Last night. Wall sex. Standing up. Mutual." He shook his head once, never breaking eye contact. "Had nothing to do with this morning. I'd never lay a hand on her."

Just like he'd also never embarrass her by talking about their hookup in front of her father. The way he spoke was detached, and though he believed him about the mark, Chibs had trouble registering the tone of his voice. He recognized it, sure, but hadn't ever expected it from Juice. It was pure resignation. He'd given up on Ava.

"Yeah," he sighed, clapping him on the shoulder. "'Kay."

Juice's eyes moved, fast and smooth in an almost reptilian way, to the ring and then back. "You got an hour or so? I wanna work on my right hook."

**-O-**

"_I know you wanna leave me -_," Ava sighed and cut off her song when Sam wailed again. She bounced him gently in her arms and paced the floor of the nursery. She waited for this particular pealing scream to die to a whimper once more, then ", _but I refuse to let you go_."

Maggie appeared in the doorway as Sam got cranked up again. He was red in the face, eyes screwed up tight, mouth open in a perfect 'o' as he yelled his little lungs out. "Is he colicky?" Maggie asked above the noise.

Ava frowned as she tried to shush him once more, adding a little hip action to her walk so that he swayed back and forth. "Juice sings…used to sing…old Motown shit to him when he walked with him."

Maggie smiled.

"He doesn't ever listen to the shit, so I have no idea why he sings it to Sammy."

"You do embarrassing, crazy things to make your children smile."

She scowled. _I'm saying goodbye to my son. _Where did he get off thinking he could claim ownership of her baby that way?

"He thinks of Sam as his own, you know," Maggie continued.

"Yeah, well I'm not inclined to care what he thinks."

"You will," Maggie sighed. "When the shock wears off, you'll care."

**-O-**

"Poor shithead," Tig muttered, nodding across the clubhouse to where Juice was seated at the bar. "That's gonna be some kinda hangover."

Boxing had given way to pushups, to endless crunches, to the pullup bar. And now he sat amongst a half dozen empties and had moved to the hard stuff; his broken down muscles being replenished by a hellish combo of vodka, tequila and whiskey. As was the man code, he wouldn't talk, wouldn't cry on anyone's shoulder, but would drown himself for a few days. One of the two of them would break first, too stuck like glue to stay away for long, and things would settle down again.

At least, that had been Jax's prediction. Opie wasn't so sure, though. It was nearly impossible to get Juice down and keep him there; he didn't wallow in foul moods or self pity. Whatever had happened at home, Juice was convinced there was no going back, and the idea was killing him – maybe even literally if he kept alternating shots.

Opie pushed up from the sofa and crossed the room, earning a ",leave him alone," from Tig, but ignoring it. He climbed onto the stool beside Juice and braced his elbows on the bar, careful not to make eye contact or lean too close – he hated when people pried in an obvious way, so he was making an effort not to do that now.

"Hey."

His answer was a snort.

"You're hittin' the bottle pretty hard." A straight observation; no questions about whether or not he was okay. He was far from okay.

Juice's chuckle was heavily influenced by the liquor he'd consumed. "Yeah…well…keeps me from hittin' other things."

This was a side of the tech geek he'd never seen before; he wasn't just heartbroken about Ava, he was angry. And to suggest violence was _big _for him. "Just, give yourself a few days," Opie suggested. "You both need some space -,"

"No," Juice cut him off. His tone was vicious, and though glazed over, when he faced him, his eyes flashed a shade to match. "There's no _space. _She wants me gone…so I'm gone." For a moment, his façade shimmered, and his face was so sad…but then the anger returned. "Gone, Ope. For good."

**-O-**

Ava didn't sleep. In the dark, Sam sleeping, it felt as if the house were holding its breath; waiting for something. It was silent as a tomb, the stillness only broken by the whir of the fridge as it cycled through its cooling and rest phases. She stared at the ceiling, an arm behind her head and felt as if her insides had been hollowed out. She wasn't sad, wasn't really even angry anymore, she just felt empty. There was an absence of feeling that was disturbing.

_Shock, _her mother had called it.

She didn't need an alarm clock or a fussy prompt from across the hall in the nursery; she rose at first light and fixed Sam his bottle – she'd weaned him to formula for simplicity's sake – threw down an Instant Breakfast shake and put the baby in his swing. He loved it; cooed and warbled in front of the TV while she tackled the house.

The mess from the night before was gone, but there was an invisible layer of filth that made her skin itch. She vacuumed, mopped, dusted, scoured baseboards, wiped out glass globes of light fixtures, organized the books and DVDs, folded her laundry with creases sharp enough to land her a job at an upscale boutique store. Then it was time for Sam to have another bottle and her to smear some peanut butter on one slice of bread.

Her day passed in silence. She cleaned until the Lysol had cracked the skin around the beds of her nails and her back ached from leaning over. She tried to write for a little while, but only stared at a blank word document on her laptop, the cursor blinking defiantly. _Gone, gone, gone, gone…_

When the faux wood clock on the living room wall with its annoying rhythm of electronic chimes sounded five o' clock, she went to the bedroom for her phone out of impulse. A soft, nondescript warmth passed through her slowly as she lifted the cell from the nightstand where it lay charging. But there were no messages. And it didn't ring – Juice calling to say he was done at the shop and on his way home, or going to be late, or did she want to come to the clubhouse for a little while. She glanced up, frowning, and saw the closet door – his closet door – shoved wide, the hangers on the rack empty. All his possessions gone.

Ava eased down until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. The protective shell around her – the _shock _– wavered.

**-O-**

"Go away!" Juice yelled against his pillow, the words echoing inside his head as loudly and painfully as the knock on the dorm door.

Rather than _go away, _the knocker turned the knob and pushed in with an excruciating squeak. He heard the light rap of heeled shoes on the hardwood – a sweetbutt – and a moment later a glass of water and travel bottle of aspirin landed on the nightstand. He cracked an eye enough to see a tattooed wrist adorned with several leather bracelets, but his neck was too stiff to crane around and see who it was.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and was thankful when the girl saw herself out without having to be told.

Afterward, even the silence strained his poor ears. He hadn't been so full-on plastered in a long time. Usually just enough to get happy, sleepy, and pass out on the pool table wrapped around some chick. But last night he'd been on a mission; drown Ava Telford out completely. All he'd succeeded in was giving himself a monster hangover that only made the emotional pain worse.

He lay still for a long time, the soft echo of voices down the hall like a jackhammer. The sink in the adjacent bathroom dripped, and it sounded like gunfire. Ava burned behind his eyelids; her face screwed up with anger, the way her teeth had clacked like those of an animal when she'd delivered her final curse. _It shoulda been you! _His pretty little Ava – the bone thin grieving girl he'd picked up off the bathroom floor, the frightened mother-to-be rubbing her growing belly, the smooth satin skin that brushed his own between the covers each night. The tears and breakdowns, the break_throughs_, the thoughtful look in her eyes when she told him she loved him, the taste of her kiss, her nails in his skin when he was inside her…and she wanted him dead. Ava wished it had been him who'd bled out on the cold concrete floor that August evening. And it didn't matter how much he hardened his heart, or how loveless he'd feel about it once his head was clear again, the knowledge that his Old Lady – the woman he loved – wished he had died, was soul crushing.

When his head quit ringing, when he could stand to do more than crack his eyes open, he would climb out of bed, shut down his heart, and do what he should have done months ago. He was going to kill Sal Rubio. Not for Ava…but for himself. Because the bastard had ruined his life.

**-O-**

Maggie didn't ask a lot of questions when Ava texted her at nine p.m., she just went when asked to _please come_. She didn't knock, but let herself in the back door with the hide-a-key and walked hurriedly through the house. "Ava?"

Not finding her, she went to the master bedroom, and then halted in the doorway.

Ava was curled up on her side in the fetal position, Sam sleeping on the king size mattress beside her, and she was sobbing.

"Oh, sweetheart…" Maggie eased onto the edge of the bed, reaching to stroke her daughter's hair. "The shock wore off, didn't it?" she asked softly.

"I…I don't," Ava choked on the words ", know what to do."

"Just give him some time -,"

"No," she shook her head, hair rustling against the comforter, and wiped at her eyes. "He won't come back, Mom, not this time," she said in a broken whisper. "I was terrible, and he won't come back. Oh, God…he's gone. He's really gone."

She couldn't be consoled, and eventually cried herself to sleep. Maggie stayed with her, stroking her hair and alternating looks between mother and sleeping son. She sighed. _Damn, baby, _she thought. _What've we done to you?_

**TBC**


	26. Grenade

**26. Grenade**

Her biological timetable had become so accustomed to waking at six to feed Sam that Ava no longer needed to set the alarm. And as she came to a slow awareness, she knew without even cracking her eyes that it wasn't quite six yet – the room was still too dark – and decided to snuggle down into the sheets and enjoy her last few moments in bed. She rolled to the left, reaching through the covers, searching for the warm, solid chest she was so accustomed to…but kept reaching, the sheets beside her cold to the touch.

Her eyes snapped open. In the bluish glow of morning, the other side of the bed was undisturbed, the pillow smooth. No indentation of a head. The only evidence she'd shared her bed for a time with a man was the lingering smell of his body wash.

Her breath caught before she could tell herself to calm down, and she sat up in bed. This time, her man wasn't dead, but had left voluntarily, was sleeping across town, quite potentially wrapped around a clubhouse skank. Ava swallowed the urge to gag and clambered out of bed. Her feet caught in the covers and she thought she'd fall. But she managed to stagger into the bathroom where the counter was clean, and there were no razors, electric clippers, or toothbrushes. No residue of short black hair around the sink that had irritated the shit out of her.

This was what she'd wanted. To be alone with Sam, soldiering on solo. Because if she couldn't have Happy, she didn't want anyone.

But it wasn't Happy she thought about as she washed her face and convinced herself it was only water on her cheeks, and not tears. God, if she was so angry, and so betrayed by Juice, if she hated him for letting Hap die and then keeping the truth from her, why was there a hard knot in her throat? Why did realizing he wasn't in bed with her so crushing? It had only been two days, and she _loathed _him…but for some reason could no longer see the mental picture of him covered in Hap's blood. Nor the vicious scowl he'd thrown her the night before. She saw him in his boxers at night, rocking Sam and singing Temptations songs to him. Saw his tired smile as he leaned over her shoulder each morning for a kiss.

The memories and thoughts warred back and forth in her head until she couldn't think straight anymore. But one thing was for sure, she knew as she gave up on not crying and blew her nose with a square of toilet paper; she had to have some definitive answers. And even if she hated him too most of the time, she knew just the place to go to find clarity.

**-O-**

The uniformed officer behind the counter look less than convinced after Ava pleaded her case. "Chief Hale said he didn't want to be bothered this morning."

"Well, that works out great because I'm here to talk, not bother. Now," she glanced down at the carrier in her hand where Sam snoozed ", when Sammy-boy wakes up in about thirty minutes, there's gonna be some screaming, and _that's _gonna bother everyone in this whole damn precinct. And I'm not going anywhere. So please, I need to see the Chief."

The guy was in his early thirties, a self-inflated blow hard like Hale had been at that age, and sighed loudly. "Fine," his tone was firm. "But no guarantees. I'm just gonna _ask _him."

"Thanks," she forced an obnoxious smile and waited, ticking off the seconds in her head. A moment later, the officer reappeared, hands on his gun belt, frowning.

"Chief'll see you for a few," he said reluctantly.

Ava grinned again, this time in victory. "Thank you so much."

"Uh huh."

Hale was behind his desk, files scattered in an ordered disarray, staring at the computer screen. He glanced up as his door squeaked and then nodded toward one of the leather chairs opposite him. "Have a seat," he said, finishing up with whatever he'd been typing.

Ava settled Sam's carrier in the other chair and tucked the blanket around her little man's feet – it was cold as shit in the precinct. When she glanced up, Hale had his elbows on the desk, leaning forward and facing her. His frown was thoughtful.

"Why'd you come see me today?"

"To get some info," she sighed and sat back against the chair. She was exhausted from crying through her morning routine and knew there was no hope of keeping up the tough act she'd played to the desk cop out front. Her best bet would be to appeal to Hale's soft side. "What you said the other night led me to some digging…and I think I've only gotten the partial truth so far."

He frowned in confusion.

"Hale…Chief…" she felt desperate. "I didn't come today as SAMCRO. I'm just a widow looking for answers today. And if some random woman came in off the street, you'd tell her how her man died."

His frown deepened. "There are legal things at play here, Ava -,"

"I know you were there the night Happy died. And I know you and Jax were working together in a way that could get your badge stripped. But you know I'll never tell. This has nothing to do with cop versus Son," she pleaded. "Please, Hale…I just wanna know what you saw. What you know. I need to know how Hap died…if Juice…was involved."

The silence was tense a moment, and then his face softened. He understood. "You're worried that the man you let into your life, into his," he nodded toward Sam ", is responsible for his father's death."

Fresh tears burned at the backs of her eyes. "Yes."

Hale took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together over the buckle of his gun belt. "I can't tell you things pertaining to that night's investigation, but I think I know what you're hoping to hear."

"Please. Anything you can tell me."

**-O-**

_Pressure. Juice wasn't up on all the first aid he needed to know, but he knew he had to apply pressure to the wound. He pulled Hap backward into his lap by two big fistfuls of his sweatshirt. He fumbled around, patting him down. He had to be hit; he was breathing in awful fits and starts, and he'd crumbled to the ground, no longer able to stand. Maybe it just caught the vest. And he was winded. And just needed a minute._

_But then his hands found the warm, wet slickness of blood. Right under his arm. The bullet had traveled through flesh and bone, and had missed the vest._

"_Shit!" Juice yanked the sweatshirt off Hap's arm, trying to see the damage. "Goddamn…" there was blood – so much, so fast – more than he'd thought there would be. He pressed both palms over the entry wound and saw crimson bubble up between his fingers. _

Juice pushed the memory from his mind as he pushed his body up on his arms again. He'd lost count somewhere after thirty, but it didn't matter. His arms burned and shook, the muscles in his torso twitched in aggravation as they tried to compensate for the voluntary abuse he was doling out on himself.

He had to have more muscle mass. Had to run faster, jump higher, draw quicker and unload the clip easier, without any doubt or judgment. The crying and wallowing, he was done with that. He should have known what was coming with Ava, and it was his own damn fault that he'd let her worm her way under his skin and disease him the way she had. But the alcohol had purged his sentiments, and going after Rubio would be the first step in reclaiming the life he'd lost to that bitch.

"Juice," he recognized Jax's voice above him and increased his pace.

"I know, man," he huffed between reps. "I'm coming, just a few more and I'll be at the table."

He heard Jax sigh loudly. "Nah, man, just…stay out here. I don't need any drama at church."

He should have jumped up and insisted he was fine, that he belonged at the table and had all his shit together. But instead he shook his head and kept going, listening to Jax's white sneaks depart across the pavement.

**-O-**

"Hey!" Maggie seemed shocked to see her. She half rose from her chair behind the desk but Ava waved her back down, setting Sam's carrier on a patch of free space among the mess of invoices and receipts.

"Can you watch him for a little bit?" she asked. Her hands were shaking with nerves, and regret. A whole hell of a lot of regret. Yes, she was still angry, and in a practical sense, she wasn't sure if she was even wired to forgive someone, but she had to try, because she felt so horrible about what she'd said.

"Yeah," Maggie gave her a curious look. "Why?"

She took a deep breath that rattled on the way out. "I need to talk to Juice."

"Oh, sweetie, I don't think that's a good idea."

"I have to, Mom. I have to apolo -,"

"Ava." Maggie sighed and fiddled with Sam's blankets as she spoke. "That's sweet of you, and I'm glad you've decided that he isn't the bad guy…but trust me that now is not a good time to talk to him."

Her resolve was too firm after talking with Hale and hearing the most likely version of the truth she'd ever get. If she didn't do this now, she would chicken out, or find five thousand other reasons to want to take her words back. So she had to do it now and pray he'd listen. "I'm doing this," she said, firm.

Maggie shrugged. "Just be prepared."

She didn't have to ask what for, and pulled in one more deep breath before she left the office.

The day was cool, but bright, and she had to squint against the sun's reflection against the white brick and shiny steel of the compound. No one was outside, and she spotted most of the guys in the garage bays, but she figured Juice wasn't among them. In the clubhouse – dark and stale smelling – a hangaround she didn't recognize was sweeping.

"Hey," she snagged his attention and he glanced over without interest. "You seen Juice?"

He frowned and she rolled her eyes. "Mohawk. Head tats. Puerto Rican."

The guy nodded. "Yeah, saw him head into the weight room about an hour ago."

That hadn't been what she'd expected – she had been thinking more along the lines of dorm room with a bottle and a bimbo – so she readily went down the hall. As she neared the door, she heard the clink of metal. Ava hesitated a moment, gathering her breath and mental strength, then she turned around the jamb and stepped into the room.

Juice was sitting down on the ancient upright machine that offered several different exercise options, doing lat pull downs, the weights slamming back against one another with a metallic _clink _on each rep. He was in a pair of breakaway track pants and a grey wifebeater soaked with sweat – he'd been at this for awhile. His expression was one of concentrated aggression, like he poured every bit of frustration into each movement. He didn't see her; just stared ahead, scowling, and continued on at a pace that suggested he wasn't even counting, but was working himself to exhaustion.

Ava lingered awhile, watching him, before she finally cleared her throat. "Juice."

The weights crashed down with a bang and he let go of the bar, twisting toward her and half coming out of his seat on the machine. Ava took a half step back, startled by his abrupt reaction, and the dark look in his eyes. She also realized that she hadn't imagined it; he was larger than he had been before in the muscle department. He was bulking himself up for some reason.

She raised her hands, palms out to show that she was harmless, like she might demonstrate to a stray dog. "Hey."

He snorted and stood, moving toward the towel he'd draped over the free weight rack against the wall.

"Baby, I -,"

"Don't call me that," he cut her off sharply. His eyes flashed her direction once, and then returned to the wall as he rubbed the glittering sheen of sweat off his arms. As good as he looked in some ways, he looked shitty in others. His eyes looked sunken, dark-rimmed in their sockets. He hadn't shaved. The tats on his head seemed blurry with just a day's growth of hair pushing through the inked skin. "Get out."

Her stomach did an unhappy flip at his words. "Please." She felt her throat closing up. "I came here to apologize."

"Apologize?" he bristled. He flung the towel down and turned to her in an angry rush, hands clenching into fists, arms jumping. "Don't you get it?" his tone was incredulous. "I did _everything _for you. And all you did was shit all over me. Get outta my face, bitch." And he turned around, heading for the larger dumbbells that rested on the floor.

Ava felt like she was being choked. She stumbled backward, tripping over her boots, and somehow made it down the hall. She had a hand on her throat, trying to suck in air just as her lungs were trying to push it back out again in silent sobs. Somehow, she made it across the parking lot and to the office where she flopped down into one of the guest chairs.

Maggie was silent a long moment, letting her get her composure back together.

Ava hiccupped. "He's never…never…spoken like that to me before. Not ever."

Her mother's face was sympathetic, but she shook her head. "You hurt him. Badly. It's gonna take him some time to get over this."

"I don't think he'll get over it. He hates me."

**-O-**

_Self control was a bitch at times like this. When he had a ripe-for-the-taking seventeen year old girl straddling his lap, her fingers playing with the snap closures on his cut, Juice flirted with the line between doing right by Chibs…and taking his teenage daughter's virginity. He hadn't expected to get so fucking riled up by someone this young, with this little experience. But there was something very basic about knowing a girl put her trust in you, and thinking you were exploring uncharted territory. _

_Ava didn't even know that as he kissed her, pushed his hands back through her silky hair, that she was grinding slowly on his lap and that it was driving him nuts. It was really wrong to want more, and he knew he'd have to send her off with a forced platonic smile in a minute before she ended up biting off much more than she was ready to chew…but her lips were so soft and pliant against his. And she breathed with these quiet little moans. _

Those idiots. Juice had sent Tux and Carter to get his shit from the house. And here at the bottom of one of the black duffel bags, he'd found the framed photo off his nightstand. Ava holding Sam sitting on the front stoop, the breeze catching her hair. It was a candid shot, and those were his favorite because she looked more like herself and less like someone being forced to pose for a picture.

In an angry rush, he wrenched the back off the frame, pulled out the photo and crumpled the thing in his palm, squeezing his fist as tight as he could. He dropped the little ball into the trash can in the corner of his dorm room and then flopped down onto the bed, exhausted. He'd nap a little bit, and then be ready for the evening's festivities.

**-O-**

Maggie heeled the door to the office shut and watched Ava climb into her truck. Then waited for her to start it up. When she was gone and she'd checked that she wasn't about to be walked in on, she pulled out her cell and dialed an old, familiar number; Tacoma Hotline.

A voice she didn't recognize answered. "Yeah?"

"I need to talk to Koz…tell him it's Mags. And that it's about his Little Bit. Trust me…he'll wanna take the call."

**-O-**

The next morning, Tara glanced up from the chart she'd been scanning to greet her "visitor", expecting Gemma or Jax, and found Ava instead. The girl held Sam's carrier in one hand, the obedient little baby awake, but not at all fussy, big brown eyes darting back and forth and taking in everything. Ava looked more disheveled; hair in a messy ponytail, eyes red-rimmed, skin pale save for the dark circles under her eyes.

"Hi, Ava," Tara put the chart under her arm and frowned. She'd heard that Ava and Juice were no more, but last she'd heard, Ava couldn't have cared less. "Is everything alright?"

She shook her head. Sniffed. "Remember, months ago, when you mentioned the grief counselor to me? I…I think it's time I talked to her."

**-O-**

Toni Fischer had several diplomas on her wall, one of which was a doctorate from USC; which meant she wasn't just a counselor, but a psychiatrist. Not counselor, but Dr. Fischer. On another day, at a different point in her mind, that little misspoken detail would have irritated Ava. But not now. Now she sat, among the dark leather and green area rugs that were a lame attempt at warming up the standard issue cinderblock and tile interior of Fischer's office, and waited. Tara had gone on break, offering to sit with Sam, and now here she was; about to talk to a shrink.

Dr. Fischer was in her early forties; a thick tangle of chestnut hair done up in a knot on her head. Rimless glasses, crisp beige clothes Ava wouldn't be caught dead in. "What made you decide to come talk to me today, Ava?" her tone was soft and low. Inviting.

Ava fiddled with the hem of her sweater. "Tara – Dr. Knowles – thought you could help me."

"How do you know Dr. Knowles?"

"She's married to my cousin," Ava made brief eye contact and then searched the room for the hundredth time. "I have a very large extended family."

She nodded. "I spoke to her before you came up. She told me you'd suffered a pretty severe loss within the past year."

Ava felt her throat closing up again. An image of Juice at the clubhouse, his face clouded over with foreign levels of aggression bloomed to life in her head. "Two actually," she choked out. "I've had two losses." She met the doc's eyes. "And the last one was my fault."

**-O-**

It was a long, hard ride to Charming from Tacoma. Koz hadn't had to explain much to his Prez; things were pretty dead in Washington at the moment and just a few words about Ava and he'd been given the green light on the trip. He took one of the new Prospects with him – put some travel miles on the kid – and had headed straight down, riding light with just a few things shoved in a leather knapsack.

As night settled over Charming, the party in the clubhouse got cranked up. The Redwood guys sat in twos or threes, hangarounds sprinkled throughout the room lapping up the attention of the sweetbutts with wide, disbelieving eyes. It was a light crowd, the music volume low. Koz put his Prospect behind the bar to pass out bottles and then climbed onto a stool, turned around and faced the room. Tig was – no surprise – giving him distrustful looks every so often. But he was more interested in the intelligence officer who was in a corner with a redhead.

Before Ava, Juice had always been million watt smiles and over exaggerated swag when it came to the ladies. Head tilts and winks and biting his lip like _damn I can't believe I'm about to tap this. _And then with Ava he'd been sincere, and warm. Now though, he stared off at some point across the room, sparing the chick a tight, dark smile every so often, but ignoring her for the most part, letting her knead his arm and leg as she whispered in his ear. His eyes were large, drinking in the shadowy room around him, but in a hard way. And he was swigging Smirnoff straight out of the bottle. It was slightly disturbing because he looked just like…well…Happy.

Koz watched a few minutes and then took his beer and headed across the room. Juice didn't even look up as he approached. Koz whistled to catch the girl's attention. "Get lost," he nodded her away and she left without a fuss.

"I wasn't done with that," Juice protested flatly as he sat down next to him on the sofa.

He shrugged. "She'll come back."

It was silent a beat, both of them taking a pull off their respective bottles. Finally, Juice made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "They sic 'Uncle Koz' on me? Bitch get you all the way down from Tacoma to lecture my ass?"

"Nah, I don't lecture. Mags said the girl was in a bad spot and I had some free time. Thought I'd come check on her seeing as how her dad don't do shit for her and now you're outta the picture."

Juice turned to him, mouth drawn up, eyes flashing. He looked like he hadn't shaved his head over his lightening bolt tats and paired with the growth of stubble on his face, the effect was eerie. "_Outta the picture_? Like I just fucking bailed?"

"Hey, thought you didn't want a lecture."

He was a little drunk, and shook his head, clearly not knowing what he wanted. "How could you – how could _anyone _side with her on this? Act like she's some poor baby."

"She _is _just a baby. Twenty-two with a dead Old Man in the ground and a kid? That's fucked up."

Juice sneered. "Of course you say that shit."

"Oh, it ain't shit, brother," Koz hardened his voice, drawing his attention again. "You knew what you were signing on for, how damaged she was -,"

"It's been a year," Juice cut him off. "She said she wanted me dead."

Koz sat back, surprised.

"Said she wished it had been me instead of him, that it _should _have been me. She hates me. I've done…I'd do…_anything._" He shook his head, eyes now shimmering. "Ungrateful bitch. You don't get it," he glared at him ", I'd catch a fucking grenade for her and she wouldn't even care. So leave me alone, you and your lectures and your bullshit _uncle _routine…get the hell outta my face."

**-O-**

Sam was asleep and Ava could find no form of entertainment that could take her mind away from Juice and all that she'd discussed with Dr. Fischer. So she decided to just go to bed, even though it was only nine. She was in her camisole and silk shorts, running a brush through her hair a final time, when the doorbell rang. Suddenly she wished she'd taken up Gemma or her mother's offer to spend the night, because no one used her doorbell and here she was all alone.

She pulled out the bottom drawer of her nightstand and withdrew one of Hap's S&W .45s, thumbing off the safety as she went down the hall and into the living room. But the visitor had moved to stand beneath the light of the porch, his outline illuminated in the front window. She gasped as she dropped the gun on the side table and threw the locks.

"Hey, kid," Koz managed before she flung her arms around his neck and squeezed for dear life. He returned her embrace, lifting her feet up off the ground. She couldn't even speak, the damn water works threatening again, but he didn't need her to.

**TBC**


	27. It Ain't About Easy

**27. It Ain't About Easy**

Ava was too happy – happier than she'd been in days – to question why Kozik had come. Nor the fact that he didn't stir off her couch the next morning. They spent a long, lazy afternoon watching DVDs and bad reality shows, completely avoiding the elephant in the room that was Juice.

"How long are you planning on staying?" she asked him that night at dinner, passing him his plate of leftover beef tips and white rice she'd microwaved.

He shrugged. "Few days I guess."

She smirked as she sat down across from him with her own plate. "No one special's waiting on you up north?" He was a long-term, confirmed bachelor, and she couldn't resist ribbing him about the fact every so often.

His smile was unexpected. "Actually…"

"No way."

"Well I ain't gonna marry her or anything."

"But you met someone?"

He tilted his head and stirred his food around. "I might have."

Ava laughed. He'd thus far been the best distraction she could have hoped for. "I want details!" she said, leaning forward in her chair like a gossipy teenager. "What's she look like? Wait, lemme guess; blond and boobs."

"Wrong," he aimed his fork at her. "Brunette and legs." He grinned. "Well, there's tits too….but ya know, mostly legs."

She rolled her eyes. "Wow. Sounds like true love."

"Hey, where I come from, five feet eight inches of _ho-ly shit _is about as close to 'true love' as you're gonna get. So sue me."

Ava grinned as she chewed. It was hard, and hilarious, to picture the Tacoma Sergeant on some nice, normal woman's doorstep, flowers in hand, trying to be a gallant prince. He was so invested in the MC, she hadn't figured he would even want to get serious with a woman outside the club. Then again…it was amazing what high heels and a pretty smile could do to a man.

Across the table, he cleared his throat loudly, catching her attention. "So, how long are we gonna avoid talking about it?"

"About what?" she played dumb, even as her pulse accelerated. Her stomach lurched and she set her fork aside, food barely touched.

Koz sighed heavily. It seemed like all the people in her life did that lately. "You know what," he was stern.

She chewed her lip and let the silence grow heavy. "I miss him, Koz," she finally said in a near whisper. "I was so, so angry and I just…screwed up so bad."

"Well you know there's only two things to do when you fuck up. Fix it or forget it."

She raked her hands back through her hair, pulling chunks free of her haphazard ponytail. "I don't know how to fix it," she groaned. "I went to see him day before yesterday…God, Koz, he hates me so much."

"Jesus Christ…" she peeked between her fingers at him. "You're both idiots. Look, I ain't gonna be your relationship coach or some shit. I'm a Sergeant at fucking Arms, remember? Not your babysitter."

She scowled. "What's your point?"

"Don't sit on your ass whining and hoping someone comes in and duct tapes your shit back together, Ava. Do something about it. Me, I'm a doer -,"

"Of women."

" – and feeling sorry for yourself won't pay the bills. Which, how the hell you gonna pay for this place, honey? No man, no money."

"Shit," she muttered. "I haven't even thought about that yet."

"Well…" the _think about it! _was heavily implied.

Ava drew in a shuddering breath and pushed her dinner away. She wasn't going to be able to eat. She folded her arms on the span of table she'd cleared and fixed her surrogate uncle with a pleading look. "I feel like someone cut all my balloon strings and I'm floating." His brows quirked at the overdone metaphor. "It was always Mom, and me, and Hap, and you. So tell me what to do, Koz. And I'll do it."

He paused a moment, and then smirked. "As much as I usually _love _hearing that from a chick, ain't gonna happen this time, girlie." She felt herself crumbling as he sat back in her rickety kitchen chair, working something out of this teeth with the tip of his tongue. "I won't lie, it's gonna be hard. Getting your life together…it ain't about easy. You've been sheltered your whole life. You've never been on your own, and you haven't ever gotten the chance to grow up properly."

She scowled.

"When was the last time you wrote a check? Or met the HVAC guy?"

"This has nothing to do with what happened to me and Juice."

"Wrong," he made that annoying buzzer sound effect. "You expect too much from a guy. From everyone. You and your dad don't get along. Juice couldn't measure up to Hap in your eyes…but Hap wasn't Jesus. You gotta learn to stand on your own two pretty little feet before you can fix things. With everyone."

His words hit her like a slap. Coming from anyone else, she would have been able to brush them off, but no matter his reputation, Koz had never lied to her. He was one of those few people whose affection for her she didn't have to question. Though her mind balked, deep down, she knew there was a certain amount of truth to what he said.

She snorted. "Why am I paying a shrink when I've got you?"

"Shrink?" he crinkled up his nose. "Oh, hell no."

"Hell yes. It'll be good for me. I need to try some things. Get my head back outta this black hole of crazy I've been sucked into."

He regarded her a moment, smiling in that charming, cute, boyish way of his.

"What?"

"Nobody hates you, sweetheart."

She made a face.

"But black hole of crazy…I might can get on board with that…"

"Oh!" She made as if to throw her dinner roll at him and he egged her on, holding out his palm. He caught it easily and took a bite. Ava shook her head. "And I wonder how I got this way."

"Don't blame me," he said around a mouthful ", this is all your mother's fault." He missed the next throw – her balled up napkin – and it glanced off his forehead. "Alright, alright, go get your newspaper. Let's look in the classifieds."

**-O-**

Bright and early the next morning, Maggie positioned Sam's carseat/carrier combo into one of her guest chairs and pulled it around to her side of the desk at T-M. She didn't like the thought of keeping him at work – too loud and dirty – which was why her mother was on the way to pick him up just as soon as she got her hair done. Diane did love quality time with her great grandson. But Maggie had been totally unable to argue when Ava had asked if she'd watch him for a bit. Little Miss and her Uncle Koz were on a mission for the day; find a job. And that proclamation had left Maggie practically squealing with happiness. She'd known it was a good idea to call Kozik down – a damn good one.

Busy getting her computer fired up and Sam settled in, she didn't hear the intruder until he was right in front of her desk and his boots scuffed over the chipped floor tile. She jumped in her seat, startled, and then realized it was Juice. "Goddamn," she put a hand over her fluttering heart. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"Sorry," he shrugged.

Her assessment found little improvement in him. He'd shaved, face and head, but he didn't look like he'd slept; strung out on too much exercise and too much booze. His eyes were dull. "What's up?" she asked carefully. She'd heard the guys talk about how volatile he'd been.

"Saturn's done." He pulled the keys to said car out of his pocket and dropped them in her outstretched palm.

"Thanks. I'll call Mr. Garrison." But he didn't leave. Maggie put the keys on the proper hook and shuffled some paperwork, stalling, but Juice still stood there, staring, she realized, at Sam. "You alright?"

"Can I -," he cut himself off, rubbing at his chin. Blew out a loud breath. His eyes flicked to hers a moment. "Can I hold him?"

_Oh, bless your heart _she wanted to say, but instead nodded. "Yeah. You want some privacy?"

"Nah." He came around the desk and undid the buckles and straps that locked the baby into the carrier, and Maggie watched as his face twisted, not into a smile, but changed from the indifference glaze he'd had to a look of concentrated pain. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam gurgled happily as his surrogate father picked him up. And Maggie realized that to Sam, there was no _surrogate _involved in the equation. For all of his tiny life so far, Sam had lived with two people. A man and a woman. A mommy and daddy. And had no idea that the man who held him, who he laughed at, wasn't the one who'd sired him. And had Ava been able to get herself together, he never would have had to find out. They could have lived, the three of them, as a perfect family.

Maggie knew she should have busied herself with the computer or shuffled through a file cabinet, but instead she watched her almost-son-in-law and fought the burn at the backs of her eyes. The whole scenario was impossible and heartbreaking, and it was so tragic that Hap had been the least of the casualties.

"She wants you in his life," she blurted before she could stop herself.

Juice cradled the baby closer, so careful, but glared at her. That was when she saw how wet his eyes were.

As if he knew he'd been caught, he cleared his throat and moved to hand Sam to her. The moment he was pulled away from Juice's chest, Sam started to fuss, as if a switch had been flipped. "Take him," he said roughly, pushing him into her arms.

Maggie hiked the eight-month-old up onto her shoulder as he began to cry. It was the sharp, breathless wailing of a child completely devastated.

Juice looked like he'd been sucker punched, and lingered a moment, hands limp at his sides. "Sorry," he muttered when it became clear he couldn't get his own emotions under control, and stalked out.

Maggie rocked Sam, shushing him with soothing words, but he wouldn't stop crying.

**-O-**

"How'd it go?" Koz called across the high school parking lot. He was leaned back against his bike, arms and ankles crossed, and had looked up from examining a hang nail. There were a few straggler students rushing up to the front of the building and they gave the biker a wide berth – Charming kids knew to just steer clear and not ask a lot of questions when it came to the Sons.

"Sucky," Ava said when she drew close enough. She rolled up her resume and stuck it back in her over-the-shoulder bag. "They can't hire me."

He smirked. "Maybe it's the outfit."

She rolled her eyes. Her cutoffs, boots and pink long-sleeved tee had nothing to do with her inability to become a clerk or substitute at CHS. "They ran a background check," she explained as she came to halt in front of his bike. She folded her arms to mirror his posture. "No charges pressed…but I've got two arrests on my record."

"Ouch," he winced. "But what about that teacher you said you were in tight with?"

"Doesn't matter. Handcuffs trump Mrs. Hagan." She groaned and turned around, propping a hip against the ferring of his Dyna. "This isn't gonna work, Koz. I'm not gonna find a job."

"Not with that attitude," his grin was huge, already knowing the line was a total cheese fest.

"Ugh. You're like a friggin' camp counselor."

"I know. Isn't it great?"

**-O-**

There were two diners in Charming, and one fantastic burger joint. Estelle's was too far on the outskirts for her comfort, and they weren't hiring at Lumpy's. So that left her with The Silverplate; a relic along Main Street that was straight out of the fifties with its big bank of plate glass windows and counter service. Blue vinyl booths and globe lamps overhead. All the way down to the black-and-white check tile.

Ava worried a ragged fingernail against the hem of her cutoffs and prayed as she watched the manager, a formidable tank of a woman, look over her qualifications one last time. She thought the verbal part of the interview had gone well, considering it wasn't even really an interview but a haphazard series of questions. They needed someone to start tomorrow, and didn't appear to be too choosy.

At last, the woman, Sharon, glanced up and nodded. "Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock."

"I got the job?" Ava asked, simultaneously excited and sick to her stomach.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

Well, no, not exactly. But whatever. Ava took a deep breath. Shit, she hadn't had a "real" job since she was eighteen. This wouldn't pay much, but it would supplement her check from the magazine and hopefully give her enough to scrape by. She'd have to get someone to watch Sam, but wasn't sure if she could afford to pay Neeta. Maybe her grandmother wouldn't mind helping out –

"Girl."

"Oh, sorry," she shook herself, realizing she'd been off in her own head. "What did you say?"

"Here," Sharon was frowning at her lack of attention. She flopped a stack of cloth onto the table between them. "Your uniform."

Ava swallowed hard as she stared at the starched apron and blue and white striped skirt that no doubt came down to her knees. "Thanks."

**-O-**

Juice had been fine. He'd awakened with a clear head, despite all the liquor. He'd crammed _her _into a very back corner of his mind and had sealed her off. She wasn't going to think about her today. After all, the damn shut-in wouldn't be out in the open where he could see her anyway.

But he hadn't counted on Sam. Seeing the kid had destroyed him. And now he was taking a long lunch break and battling things out on the pavement again. Physical exertion was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment.

He had just turned down Main when he noticed a bike parked in one of the slanted spaces along the curb in front of the diner. The spiky blond hair of the bike's rider was unmistakable, as were the features of the girl who came rushing down from the sidewalk, a bundle of cloth in one arm and a smile splitting her face like it hadn't in a long, long time. Ava and Koz.

He should have pressed on and ignored them, but he couldn't look away and his run slowed to a jog because of it. It wasn't shocking to watch Ava put her arms around the Tacoma biker's neck, or that he hugged her back. Not a surprise that she donned her helmet and slid onto the bitch seat behind him. But it was _infuriating. _

**-O-**

Koz looked at the hand of cards he had and frowned. Nothing. And he was all in at this point, all his chips pushed to the center of the wood table where he and Opie were sitting. Everyone else had folded and it was just the two of them now. And unless Ope was bluffing too, he was going to walk away with the whole pot.

Koz registered the loud clomp of boots on the hardwood before the clubhouse door slammed. Across the table, Opie quirked his eyebrows. "Heads up," he muttered.

"Hey!" he recognized the shouter and sighed, rotating slowly in his chair. Too slowly, apparently, because Juice crossed the room faster than he thought he would, and suddenly there was a hand clamped down on his shoulder. "That how it is?" If he wasn't drunk, his voice was doing a very good job of sounding that way. "Huh? You just come into town and just like that?"

"What the fuck are y -," Koz was the bigger of the two of them, but he'd been caught off guard, and was sitting down, and lost his balance trying to get up, Juice shoving him hard. His first thought was _oh helllll no _as he went sprawling on his hands and knees on the dirty floorboards. His cards fluttered down around him. As he scrambled to his feet, though, he was able to remind himself that Juice was an idiot after all, and heartbroken to boot.

Said idiot had his shoulders bunched up, fists curled, staring at him with flat, black shark eyes, chest heaving. "How long you been planning this?" he demanded. "Days? Weeks? Months?"

A crowd was gathering, circling the two of them. "What the hell are you talkin' about, man?" Jax wanted to know.

Koz had a pretty damn good idea, and he guessed he couldn't really blame the poor kid; as emotionally fucked as he was. But if he was putting up dukes, so was he, and who knew, it might take physical blows, but knocking some sense into Ava had done a world of good. What was good for the goose…and all that.

"Juice," Chibs had a warning note to his voice.

Juice ignored them both. "If you wanted her," he bit out through clenched teeth ", then why the fuck didn't you _take her after the funeral?_" the last was a yell, veins popping along his arms and neck.

"Jesus Christ…here we go…" Opie muttered.

Jax sighed. "You know it ain't like that with him and her. Give it a rest."

"Why?" Juice asked again, taking a step closer.

Koz had two options here. He glanced over Juice's head and locked eyes momentarily with Tig. It was a rare and freakish occasion when the two of them agreed on anything, but this appeared to be one of those times. As if he could read his mind, the Redwood Sgt at Arms gave a slight nod.

Bolstered that he'd have some backup in what was to follow, Koz stretched up, emphasizing his height advantage over Ava's enraged Old Man. "Why?" he repeated. "Guess I just can't help myself, ya know?"

"Mother -," Juice lunged, and Chibs and Bobby caught him under the arms holding him back, yelling for him to calm down.

"Yeah," Koz continued, flinging his arms wide. Mocking. "She hit me up with that slutty-ass voodoo and I just couldn't resist. You know how that goes, don't ya stud?"

Juice surged against their hold and Koz could hear Jax inhale, about to spout an order, but Tig beat him to it.

"Nah, nah, nah, leave 'em."

Chibs and Bobby looked at Koz, then Tig, to Jax, then finally each other. Both shook their heads and sighed as they released their captive.

**-O-**

"Did you talk about your grief with your boyfriend?"

Ava frowned at the terminology, again, glancing around Dr. Fischer's office. It was easier today, maybe because she had a job, maybe because she had resolved herself to the fact that she was indeed seeing a shrink. And so long as not too many people found out, that would be okay.

"He isn't…wasn't…really my boyfriend. That word doesn't say all that it needs to." She glanced at the doc and saw the curiosity on her face. "Where I come from, it's 'Old Man' and 'Old Lady'."

"There's a distinction?"

Oh was there ever, but Ava wasn't sure how to phrase it in a way that didn't sound backward and desperate. "Your Old Man is…_your man. _You belong to him, and it encompasses a whole other kind of love that 'boyfriend' doesn't even begin to cover. Being an Old Lady is a commitment. It's long-term."

Fischer jotted something in her notebook. "But you and -,"

"Jean Carlos," she supplied.

" – you're no longer together?"

"No," Ava sighed. "I…" her eyes began to sting and she shook her head. "I don't know if I want to talk about him. It's just gonna make me blubbery."

"Talking is healing," Fischer reasoned. "The only way to deal with issues like this is to talk about them."

**-O-**

Juice came at him with his fists up, throwing all his weight into the lunge and subsequent punch. But he wasn't careful about it, in his fit of rage. Koz ducked left, avoiding the charge, and caught the younger man across the chest with a locked arm. He was surprised at the amount of force it took, but he pushed Juice back, caused him to stumble, and then used his weight against him, landing him on his ass.

"You wanna fight?" Koz asked. "Then we do it straight."

**-O-**

"Did you find yourself attracted to him? Or was it about seeking comfort?"

Ava fidgeted in her seat. "A little of both I think. In the moment, I just missed Ha…my Old Man. But I've always been _attracted _to Jui – Jean Carlos. I haven't ever acted on it…well, not since high school…" she sighed. "Shit. This is all complicated."

"But I think it's safe to say you were and are attracted to him," Fischer's tone was never accusing.

"Yeah."

"What do you find _most_ attractive about him?"

She loved his skin; the color and texture. Loved his mohawk; thought it was sexy even when the guys thought it looked retarded. Loved exploring his body like a roadmap, the way he let her snuggle, the feel of him inside her…but the answer was none of those things and came to her instantly. "He's a sweetie. I've never met a man who was so genuinely sweet and good hearted."

**-O-**

Juice liked Koz. They got along quite well. But right now, staring across the ring at the blond's tatted up torso, watching him circle around the mat, he hated him. He could hear the dim voice of his conscience shouting in the background, telling him this was stupid, that no wrong had been committed against him. He'd walked away from Ava and he sure as hell wasn't ever going back. But he kept seeing them in his mind, saw her smile, and was too distraught to think rationally. He wanted blood, wanted to pound the Tacoma biker's face until it was unrecognizable.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, making his muscles jump, boosting his confidence tenfold. He'd always thought himself in good shape, but recently, all the exercise and the boxing lessons, he could feel just how many more fast and slow twitch fibers were bundled under his skin. He had technique now, actual fighting skill, and enough anger to fuel him for ten rounds.

But Koz was just waiting, holding back, hands up but not advancing. He didn't even look aggressive, face calm.

"Come on!" he yelled. How dare that cocky, woman-taking bastard just be so passive about the whole thing. "Come _on_!"

Koz shrugged. "Your move."

That did it. Amid the mutters and curses of the other guys, he charged across the mat, ready to go. Koz blocked his first swing, so he faked him out, catching him with a glancing blow on the chin. It was fast, like a snake striking, and Koz registered surprise. _Ha ha, fucker _Juice thought triumphantly. He was faster and more agile than he'd been, than the Sgt at Arms had suspected.

Victory didn't last long. Koz came back at him and then he was backpedaling, blocking instead of hitting, trying to put enough space between them to begin again with a fresh approach. Anger gave way to concentration as he tried to predict the combinations being thrown at him. Damn it, Chibs had been coaching him, he had become downright lethal…against an Everlast bag. But this was an older, larger, more ruthless human opponent he fought.

Juice realized the left that had come at his gut was a fakeout too late. _Oh, fuuuu –_

And then Koz's right landed knuckles-first against his eye socket.

**-O-**

Ava felt exhausted as she walked down the hall away from Fischer's office. Things were so succinct and practical in her family; you said what you meant and needed to, and that was it. Direct communication for the most part. She had never sat with someone and talked about the state of her mind for so long – debated her feelings, motivations and longings. Fischer got under her skin, annoyed her greatly with her calm looks and thoughtful frowns. It felt so useless to sit and talk about what was going on when she wanted to find some real, tangible way to reconnect with Juice.

But maybe she'd learned something after all; and that was that she wanted Juice. She didn't know how she felt about him or if things could work, if she could ever get rid of the anger she held for him in seemingly endless reserves, but she just a few days of silence between them and his hurtful words were more than enough.

Oddly, what Koz had said the night before had more impact than anything the lady with the diploma had offered. She had a feeling that standing on her "own two pretty little feet" was a major step in the right direction.

As she pushed DOWN on the panel at the elevator, a tiny sprig of hope unfurled inside her.

**-O-**

"Here," Koz dangled the Ziploc bag full of ice over his opponent's face. Juice was flat on his back on the picnic table, knees pulled up, sporting a rapidly darkening shiner.

"Thanks," he mumbled, accepting and draping it over his bruised eye with a wince. All the fight had gone out of him, and now he was back to his original, mopey state.

"You've been practicing," Koz offered as he sat down on the table's seat. "That right hook's really shaping up."

"Obviously not enough."

"Hey, you knew what you were getting in the ring with."

"An asshole?"

Koz sighed. "A damn good boxer," he corrected. "And a guy who you _know _isn't rubbing up on your girl. You know that shit, dude, so don't act all dejected about it."

He blew out a loud breath and the ice cubes clacked together as he shifted the bag. "I know, I know."

"She might be a little out of her skull, and I know she spouts off at the mouth, but Ava's still all about you, dumbass. Don't worry about that part of things."

"Yeah, well, like I give a shit. I'm done."

"Which is why you attacked me."

No comment.

If Ava had been difficult, Juice as downright impossible. This was the result of months' worth of hostility from his girl, and he just didn't know how to displace it anymore. Juice had cracked, inside and out, and had no idea how to piece himself back together again.

"Jax tells me you're still set on going after Rubio."

"He also says it won't fix anything."

"You believe that?"

Juice lifted the ice bag and rolled his head to the side, frowning. "Do _you_?"

"I think sometimes a man has to do things to quiet the noise in his head. And to figure out if it'll help. Don't discount the whiskey till you've thrown it down, right?"

Juice ghosted a tiny half-smile. "Right." He blinked a couple of times with his good eye. "I'm not doing it for her," he said. "It's for me."

"I know that."

He took a deep breath. "When it goes down, you want in?"

"Absolutely."

**TBC**


	28. Little Miss

**AN: **Thank you so much everyone for the reviews and support. I've started back to school, so unfortunately updates will be a bit slower. This was originally part of a much larger chapter, but I'm splitting it in half so I can get this portion out to you faster. Again, thanks! I've been so busy I know I don't respond, but I really do appreciate the feedback!

Chapter title this time is "Little Miss" by Sugarland. I highly recommend.

…

**28. Little Miss**

"Congrats, girl," Caroline pulled a single, pink birthday cake candle from her pocket and stuck it in the slice of cheesecake she'd just ordered. "You made it three weeks on the job."

Ava rolled her eyes from behind the counter as she laid out silverware and a napkin for her friend. "Big milestone."

"It is. You and the service industry have never meshed well. And look at you, out of the house and bringing home the bacon. I'm proud of ya."

Ava's first day at The Silverplate had been disastrous; spilled coffee, mixed up orders, one regrettable snap at a demanding customer. She'd thought she would be fired; had cried in the bathroom for fifteen minutes. But by the end of that week, she was starting to get the hang of things. And now, three weeks in, she was downright good. And though she hadn't expected it, staying busy was keeping her mind off of the state of things; while at work anyway. When she picked up Sam from her grandmother and went home, just the two of them alone, depression would settle over her like a lead blanket. But it was easier to pretend when she was out in public; she was getting quite talented with the fake smiling routine.

"Here," Caroline pulled out a lighter and struck the flame on the candle. "Make a wish and then blow it out before your manager tosses me out."

Ava chuckled, picturing Sharon and her monstrous beefy hands, and leaned across the counter, puffing out the little flicker with one blow. "You know, I'm not supposed to eat on the job," she protested, but still accepted the fork that was handed to her. She took a fast bite of the cheesecake – chocolate chip with Oreo crust.

Caroline shrugged. "Well I wouldn't go eating off random customer plates, but I paid for this. I can give it to who I want!"

"Sharon would not share the sentiment," she said, passing the fork back and heading off. "I gotta check on my tables, but I'll be back."

The diner was all decked out for the Christmas season. Miniature tinsel trees with colored lights were situated in free corners and along the counter at intervals. Garland had been tacked around the door and along the edge of the ceiling. "Merry Christmas" was done in red shoe polish calligraphy across the windows. Ava's usual white apron had been replaced with a red one and she, along with the other waitresses, was required to wear a Santa hat. She had her hair in a loose braid today, opting for the comfort of her Nikes over the low-heeled pumps she'd bought to go with her outfit. White hose and the white and blue striped skirt that made her look fifty years old – at least that was what she thought.

She lifted the coffee pot off the warmer and made the rounds. More tea for the older couple in the corner. An extra order of fries for the fat guy wedged into his booth. She was pouring coffee for Mrs. Jansen – her know-it-all neighbor – when the bell above the door jangled. Which wasn't unusual.

"Next table's yours, Ava!" Melanie called across the diner. Which meant she would seat and serve whoever had come in.

"'Kay!" she hollered back. She turned, mouth already forming a greeting, and then froze.

Jax, Opie, and her father had come into the diner and were pulling off their gloves. Jax was turning his Reaper Crew ball cap around to face forward. But that wasn't alarming; she was shocked to silence because Juice was with them.

"There's our little workin' girl," Jax greeted with a grin. He reached to knock her shoulder with the side of his fist. "You guys got pie today?"

"Cherry and apple," she managed, voice far-off. She knew she stood stupidly a moment when she should have grabbed a stack of menus and escorted them to a table. She was hoping for something, anything, even just a dirty look from Juice, but he stared out the window, not scowling, but his face firmer than just a passive expression. Ruined. Broken. "I…I've got a table back here," she said when it became clear she'd get no acknowledgement.

Patrons quieted as the four Sons walked past. It had become a prejudiced habit in town. But Ava ignored it, hands quaking as she laid out napkins, silverware and menus. When she stepped back and motioned toward the booth, Juice slid in immediately, still not looking at her, taking a window seat and gluing his eyeballs to whatever had him so entranced out in the lot.

The only thing that was even remotely distracting from her ex – God, it pained her to think of him in the past tense – was her father's presence. She heard Koz in her head, rambling on about fixing herself and getting over her grudges. So she put away her frown and whipped out her order pad. "What do you guys wanna drink?"

"Does your hat have a bell?" Jax asked instead, grinning.

"It might." She shook her head, said bell jangling at the very tip of her hat.

He chuckled. "That's fuckin' awesome."

Opie rolled his eyes. "Dr. Pepper all around," he told her.

Ava wanted to kiss him. He had saved her from having direct communication with Chibs or Juice, thereby preventing a bunch of awkward stammering on her part. _Thank you _she mouthed and he nodded. "I'll be back."

When she went behind the counter and started dipping ice into the glasses, Caroline caught her eye with a frantic wave. "He's here? Are you kidding me?" she hissed behind her hand.

Ava shrugged, fighting the internal swarm of butterflies that threatened to overtake her. Her heart was galloping in her chest, like that of a jittery teenager who was in the same room as her crush. "All the guys eat here. I can't keep him away."

"Well he could come on a day you aren't working!"

"I work six days a week. And I guarantee you the other guys picked the place; no way would he have come in here on his own."

Caroline made a face and turned around on her stool. "Look at him, sitting there looking like an asshole. Shithead doesn't even _care _that you're over here twisting."

"Caro," Ava said firmly, waiting for eye contact. "I was a horrible bitch. He doesn't have to care, and he isn't an asshole. No more Juice bashing."

**-O-**

Her uniform had to be the most unflattering thing he'd ever seen her in. The skirt was starched stiff and belled out around her legs – hiding their slim curves – all the way past her knees. She was probably supposed to tuck the white collared shirt in, but she'd tied the hem in a sloppy knot instead. Her hair was braided, or had been, most if it had come loose, and that damn Santa hat was too tacky for words.

But she looked beautiful. Juice couldn't keep from thinking that as he watched her hips move side-to-side under the hideous skirt when she walked away from their table. And because he hadn't seen her in awhile, this sudden exposure was hitting him hard. He strained to focus on something beyond the diner, any little boring thing out in the parking lot, but his eyes kept shifting back inside, following Ava's every move as she went from table to table, pouring coffee and taking orders.

Slowly, Juice had been developing a detachment; every time he thought about her, it was like white noise kick started in his head, blocking out the emotional pain receptors. He was, through sheer force of will, getting over her. At least he'd thought so until Jax had dragged them into the goddamn diner for lunch. Now the ache of longing was fierce.

He felt something else though too, and it was so foreign it took him a moment to place it. Pride. The distraught, possibly insane girl – he knew she wasn't, but sometimes it was hard to fight Tig's insistence on the subject – with mascara tracks down her face as she shoved him away had been replaced with a polite, efficient waitress. She was working, and that made him proud beyond reason. She was taking care of herself and her son, stepping up and doing what she had to in his absence.

His heart did a nauseating flip as she approached their table again, pen and pad in hand. He'd forgotten that he wasn't watching her from afar and that he'd have to actually speak to her. He swallowed hard and darted his glance to the window again as anger bubbled. Just when he found himself wanting to love her, the hate came slamming back.

"That was subtle," Opie muttered under his breath and he knew he was referring to the way he'd averted his eyes. There was no chance for rebuttal as Ava propped a hip against the edge of the table.

"You guys ready to order?" Damn…just her voice set the short hairs of his mohawk at attention. All he could hear was her accusation and her bitterness.

The others ordered and he waited until last, only turning to her when Chibs elbowed him. "Oh, yeah," he risked a glance at her face and for a moment, he was caught neatly in the middle of his feelings for her. There was the tiniest spark of hope in her eyes and her lips were barely parted, like when she was a teenager and wanted him to kiss her again. The good and the horrific memories battled inside his head. His body felt on fire under his skin at the instant reminder or her touch and of quiet, sweet moments. But the nasty and grieving girl was inside his head too, and he hated her. Shit…maybe _he _was the insane one.

"Chicken fried steak," he finally said in monotone, thrusting the menu in her general direction. "Extra gravy on the potatoes."

Crestfallen, she scribbled the order and took his menu. "I'll be back."

He forced himself not to watch her walk away, a headache pounding between his temples. No one at the table gave him a sympathetic look or a nod of commiseration. Juice knew that despite World War III raging inside him, he'd been impassive on the outside. He had become numb to all outsiders, and he wondered, if with time, that numbness would consume his interior too.

Four tables down, Ava was scraping tips into her hand and frowning at the small sum she found. Juice had a sudden curiosity about Sam; who was watching him? Neeta? Diane? He watched Ava put the money in her apron and resignation settled over him when he realized what he had to do; hate, love, or apathy. There were some things you couldn't turn a blind eye to.

**-O-**

For the forty minutes the guys were in the diner, Ava strapped a pair of mental blinders on and focused on her work. Taking orders, balancing trays, refilling coffee. She did it all with a fake smile and managed to keep from glancing at Juice the entire time. Inside, her heart was shattering all over again, breaking loose of the flimsy Scotch tape she'd pieced it back together with, but no one could have told from the outside, and thus her goal was accomplished.

Finally, she breathed a huge sigh of relief when Jax, Opie, her father and ex all got up from the table and headed out. Jax went to the counter to pay and the others went outside, heading for the bikes they'd parked up along the curb. Ava was shaking when she went to bus the table; her nerves bleeding out of her system like a drug and leaving her weak. She focused on her breathing – inhale and exhale – and tried to get the tremors under control as she began tossing cups and plastic plates into the tub she hefted under one arm. She spied a one and another bill under it in the middle and picked up the tip, spreading the bills apart –

She gasped. Beneath the one was a crisp one hundred.

"Jax!" she dumped the tub on the table and hurried to catch the Prez before he left the register. "Jax, hold up."

He turned around and leaned back against the counter, popping the end of a toothpick between his teeth. "S'up?"

"I can't accept this," she extended the hundred. "If I'm not an Old Lady, I gotta make it on my own and I can't take your money. It's really sweet, but no thanks."

He twitched a grin. "Who said it was _my _money?"

Ava frowned. "Well then who…" he nodded behind her and she turned, watching through the window as Juice snapped on his helmet and swung his leg over his bike. Her breath hitched and she felt the mental blinders dissipating. She would not cry in the middle of the damn diner, she just wouldn't.

She felt Jax's hand on her shoulder and then he brushed a kiss to her cheek. "See ya around, cuz. Don't work too hard." And he walked away; out the door and down the sidewalk to join his brothers.

Ava watched them ride off and slipped the hundred into the pocket of her apron.

**-O-**

Juice knew he shouldn't have given her the money. He knew she had to need it; knew how expensive it was to keep Sam in diapers and formula, wipes and lotion. But he should have found a way to give it to Maggie instead, or convince one of the other boys to pretend it was their generosity.

Because now, as the sun slipped over the horizon and the lights came on beneath the overhang where he was working the heavy bag, he recognized her truck sliding to a stop out in the parking lot. Panic, pain and bitterness welled up in his belly, pushing at his throat until his breathing became choppy and ineffective. He pushed on with his workout anyway, watching from the corner of his eye as Ava – still in her work uniform – climbed out of the cab and came toward him.

Juice concentrated on the bag, the sound of his gloves impacting its surface, but could hear her softly call his name when she reached the picnic table. His body paused before he wanted it to and he sort of jerked, only half turning his head to regard her. She looked tired, he thought, dark circles under her eyes. All her baby weight was gone and she looked downright skinny, like that period in her early pregnancy, when she'd been grieving and had refused to eat.

Which was crazy because she wasn't grieving now.

She folded one arm across her middle and reached to rest her free palm against one of the metal struts that held up the pavilion. "Thank you," her voice was quiet, demure. "I'll give it back if you'll let me."

"Keep it," his voice was hard. "It's for Sam."

He half expected a plea. Maybe a few tears. But Ava nodded and then turned away, walking back toward her truck. He hesitated, watching her, and saw the shift of her spine before she turned around.

"Juice?"

It was the soft, gentle inquiry she'd used in the still darkness before first light, his hand on her hip, her leg draped over his waist, bodies pressed flush and her fingers tracing the ridge of his jaw. Those moments when she didn't want to be fucked good, was looking for something much more gentle but was afraid to ask because Happy had always been rough with her. It was the voice that had caused him to hate Hap, and love her and now it sent a rippling shiver down his spine, until his skin felt pulled tight all over. He lifted a brow in a nonverbal answer.

"I've been seeing a therapist," she said. It was the last thing he'd expected. "A grief counselor and I'm trying to work through my issues." She blinked hard a few times. "I was never fair to you and you were wonderful. I don't know if I can fix things, but I'm trying to fix myself."

She didn't wait for a response, just headed back for her truck.

Juice was dumbfounded, watched her drive away, and then went back at the bag full force.

**-O-**

Dr. Fischer's office was always a touch too warm, warmer than any other place in the hospital, and Ava had a feeling it was done on purpose. A ploy to make the patients sleepy, comfortable, and ready to spill their guts. Though now, she couldn't scoff that – what with being a patient and all. And what with spilling her guts.

"What have you been working on?" Fischer prompted, crossing her legs and neatening her skirt.

Ava always found herself watching the doctor, subconsciously examining her just as she was being examined, she supposed. No wedding band. No pictures of kids on her desk. The rigid back posture and carefully bland facial expression. She was a hard book to read, but the more time she spent with her, the more Ava found an insincerity about her. It didn't matter, she supposed, since it was her own problems they were discussing, and not the doc's.

"Well, I've been working, just in general. Tips have been good."

"What about your father? Have you spoken to him since we talked last?"

Ava wrinkled her nose. "Well, he came into the diner yesterday."

The doctor frowned. "Ava, we've been talking about you and him working through your differences verbally. That's going to be a big step toward your recovery."

_Recovery? _She didn't have an addiction, or a physical illness. She folded her arms, not liking the use of the word.

"If you don't feel like you can reach out to him on your own, then I think the two of you need to come in for a session together with me."

Ava couldn't help it; she laughed, so hard and so suddenly that she snorted. "Yeah!" she chuckled. "'Cause he'll come in here."

Fischer's mouth pinched up tight. "The fact that you're deflecting with humor is a key indicator as to how deteriorated your relationship is with you father." She scribbled something on her pad. "Enlist your mother, or one of his friends, but I think it would be very beneficial to speak to both of you together. Many young women have romantic troubles that stem from the relationship – or lack there of – with their fathers. Reconnecting with him will start the healing process, and will ensure that your experiences are healthy and productive when you begin dating again."

As the last line was delivered, Ava felt the breath rush out of her. _When you begin dating again. _It was incomprehensible, and horrifying. "Wait…what do you mean dating?"

Fischer blinked. "I know it's difficult now with Sam being so young, but you _will _become interested in dating and spending time with a nice, understanding man in the future. As your grief becomes manageable."

"I _had _a _nice_, _understanding _man, and I drove him away."

Fischer nodded and Ava felt anger bubble up inside her.

"I'm not looking to move on. I want Juice back. I want to get my own shit straightened out so I can be what he needs me to be."

"Well, judging from the hostility between the two of you, at least that you expressed to me, I think you'd be better off -,"

"No," she said sharply, hands starting to quiver in her lap. "I know I don't get along with my dad, and trust me there's tons of demons there. And I know I've been a raving bitch since Hap died, but Juice…" she felt the hard knot in her throat that was all too familiar. She waved her hands in a helpless gesture. "He loves Sam like he was his own. I won't find that anywhere else. Hell, I don't _want _to find it anywhere else."

The doc was silent, tapping her pen against the top of her notepad.

"I want to help myself," Ava continued. "But I'm not looking to move on and start some whole new life."

"Those two things are connected. Moving on and helping yourself."

For the first time, sitting across from the austere blond woman, Ava was resentful. Fischer had no family, no children, no companion, just as cold as the painted concrete walls of the hospital. "I'm the daughter of a Son," she said firmly. "The mother of a future Son, and there is no such thing as moving on for me. If you can't help me within those parameters, then I guess I should find another counselor."

**-O-**

It was a dead time at the clubhouse; no church, no Sons hanging around beneath the steel overhang. Ava was thankful for the peace as she slipped her hands into the gloves she'd found dangling over the ropes of the ring and debated their tightness. They were too big, but they'd do – the bag wasn't much of an opponent. She cranked the Velcro wrist straps down as tight as they'd go and then rolled her shoulders, loosening up and planning her method of attack. She was pulled back for her first punch when someone tapped her on the shoulder and she jumped; whirling around, fists raised, prepared to deck whoever it was.

Tig was behind her, hands raised with the palms facing her, grinning. "Easy, killer," he chuckled. "You even know how to use those?"

She rotated one wrist and cocked a brow. "You wanna find out?"

"Nah," he rolled his eyes, but in a good natured way, she thought. Ava was always wary of him, so was reluctant to believe the softer, more pleasant expression he was sporting. "You and the idiot just gonna duke it out glove style or something?"

"No," she sighed, letting her arms drop lifeless to her sides. Something about Tig always made her want to tell the truth, even when she knew he'd laugh at her about it. "My therapist pissed me off today and I wanted to let out some steam."

"Whoa," his blue eyes became huge, grin spreading. "Therapist? You're seeing a _shrink_? Damn," he chuckled.

"Yes, a shrink," she defended. "One shoulda got hold of you twenty years ago."

"Hey, my shit is contained. I don't bleed all over Puerto Rican nerds."

Her throat constricted at the remark. Her body seemed always waiting and ready to cry these days, and she turned away from the Sgt at Arms while she took several deep breaths and composed herself. His hand settling on her shoulder was a surprise.

"I can't stand the water works, kid, reel it back in." Tig-speak for _I'm sorry._

She took one last shuddering breath and shook her head. "I know I fucked up," she said over her shoulder. "Hence the shrink, hence the water works. I regret how I treated Juice every second. I can't even sleep at night."

"Ah, well," he sounded awkward now. She turned and found him rubbing the back of his neck – a self-conscious move he'd never pull with her if any of his brothers were around. "You guys'll work it out."

"At least someone's optimistic." She reached to wipe her eyes and realized she had boxing gloves strapped on. Frustrated, she growled and used the back of her arm to dab at the few tears that had formed.

Tig was obviously uncomfortable. They were anything but close, and here she was standing on an emotional precipice with him the only witness. "So steam, huh?" he finally asked.

She nodded.

He moved around so that he was holding the big hanging Everlast bag and braced his feet on the pavement. "Let's see what you got, Tinkerbell."

"Tinkerbell was blond," she said with a smirk, raising her arms.

Ava had sparred with her father – former prize fighter that he was – and Hap; not much, just enough to give her a better right hook than any other girl her age and to give her some self confidence when it came to defending herself. They had walked her through self defense protocol, do A if a guy tries to do B to you out in the big scary world. But she'd had no actual fight training. Tig egged her on, hurling verbal jabs at her that snapped her arms forward faster, landed her punches harder. The evening light waned, a blast of color over her shoulder, and the oversized gray wifebeater she was pretty sure was Juice's became soaked through with sweat, clinging to her sports bra underneath.

"Anger ain't a bad thing," Tig said at random, and she paused, fists suspended. "Keep going," he nodded her back to the bag and she struck it again. _Left-left-right. Left-left-right. HOOK. Left-left-right. _"Anger makes you tough. Lets you do the things you have to." _Left-left-right. _"You just gotta be mad at the right people."

An image of Juice formed in her mind, but quickly dissolved. She had doubted him in the moment, but he wouldn't have ever let Hap die if he could have helped it. He was too devoted to the club and his brothers to let that happen. And it had been years since they'd had any kind of a spark – years in which he didn't so much as let his eyes linger over her too long.

For a moment she thought of Dr. Fischer, but no matter how infuriating that look of hers, the shrink was impartial. She had no reason to hurt her.

"Who're you mad at?" Tig goaded.

"Dad!" she panted through clenched teeth, throwing a hard combo of punches at the bag, rocking it in Tig's arms. Chibs bailed every time things got tough. When Maggie had gone to Seattle – he hadn't followed. When Maggie had come back after the explosion in 2008 – he hadn't fought to keep her around. When she'd been seventeen and so in love with Hap she couldn't function – Chibs had forced him Nomad again. And then when Hap had died…he'd never been there. He was no father. Hap and Koz had raised her, not her own flesh and blood, and she hated him for it.

"Who else?"

"Hap." And she could feel the threat of tears again, hating herself as she said it. But it was true. There was so much pent up resentment over his death that she'd misdirected at everyone else. But deep down, though it wasn't his fault, she was angry with him for leaving her when she loved him so much and was carrying his child. She was furious with the situation; the injustice that the one man who'd always been there for her had been ripped away with one pull of a trigger.

"And…?"

Her swirling emotions had fueled her further than sheer adrenaline would have, and she was overworked; dripping wet, dehydrated, her muscles stinging with lactic acid. Her final dawn of realization tipped the scales and she collapsed, going down like a Jack-in-the-Box being rewound, legs folding up as she sat down hard on her ass on the concrete. Her arms fell out to the side; those of a gloved, morbid ballerina. The pose might have been elegant if she weren't breathing like a Derby winner, tears and sweat pouring down her face and mingling together until she couldn't discern the two.

"Myself," she groaned, miserable. "I'm so mad….at…" the heavy breathing was rapidly turning into sobs. "I hate myself for what I did to him."

Ava closed her eyes against the tears, but it was no use. She sat, like a wounded bird, on the ground beneath the pavilion and bawled her eyes out, unable to stem the flow thanks to the gloves she couldn't manage to work off.

Then suddenly her hands were free. She glanced up, through the glaze of tears, and saw that Tig had knelt and pulled them off. She expected him to get up immediately, but he stayed crouched a moment. He touched the top of her head.

"You can't fix anything until you know who to be mad at, sweetheart."

**TBC**


	29. Merry Happy

**AN: **Title is from a song by Kate Nash. Fun and fitting I thought.

I forgot last time (sorry!) so I have to give Angie (MsHapDilligaf on this site) a big double handful of thank you for listening to my rambling ideas and giving me feedback. She helped so much with these past two chaps as far as knowing how much Juice to add to the crazy drama soup. Love you, girl!

And love all you reviewers too! Thanks and keep it up.

…

**29. Merry Happy**

**Christmas Eve **

The diner was one of few places open on Christmas Eve, and Ava drew second shift. She'd thought she'd be devastated to miss Gemma's big party, but oddly, she was okay with the quiet. There were only a handful of customers and the work was light. And she had her baby boy with her.

"Thanks, Neeta," she said for the hundredth time, pouring the nanny more coffee. "I know I should have sent Sam to Gemma's with Mom."

"Oh, you wanted your baby with you for Christmas," she waved off the gratitude as she regarded Sam, his carrier perched on the table. "Nothin' wrong with that. And I don't have a family to go see. Might as well enjoy an innocent one's company on the holy night."

Ava smiled. In the moment, the woman's religious intensity was rather comforting. It kept her from thinking about the last few Christmas Eves she'd had. The one at the forefront of her mind – when she forgot to block it – that gave her the most trouble, was last year; sitting on Gemma's patio, watching airplanes Juice claimed were shooting stars, his arm around her.

She wouldn't trade any other feeling for the grief she'd experienced after Hap's death. But she'd known he'd been separated from her by death – and that was final. It was not negotiable or changeable. But Juice…he'd left her by choice, and had stayed gone. Their separation didn't have to be ultimate, but yet he didn't come back. And he wouldn't speak to her in more than single words he had to force through gritted teeth.

"Where is he?" Neeta asked.

She'd gotten bogged down in thought and hadn't moved away. She shook her head. "Where's who?"

Neeta adjusted Sam's blankets. "This boy's father."

"Charming Public Cemetery."

"No," she frowned. "Let me rephrase the question. Where is the man who's raising your son?"

Ava felt a sad smile split her face like a knife; jagged, painful. She didn't make eye contact as she stalled, adjusting the contents of her apron. "He, um…" her breath caught. Jesus, she was tired of crying. Tired of feeling this way.

Neeta's face fell. "You two split up?"

"Yes," she sighed. "That's the more _delicate _way to put it." Ava blinked hard. It had been over a week since his hundred dollar tip, and she had almost dared to hope that he might talk to her, but so far nothing. Yes, it was a two way street and she could have reached out to him, but he needed space. She had pushed him away – it would have to be his choice to take her back. If he ever did.

She didn't notice she was shaking until Neeta gripped her wrist gently. "What happened, baby?" her voice was so kind and genuine that Ava felt sadness start to overtake the calm she'd cultivated. "Sit down, child."

She did, but her ruff was up. "No offense, Neeta," she said, sinking into the booth opposite the nanny ", but I've been seeing a therapist. And on top of that, everyone in my life feels the need to impart some wisdom on the situation. So I'd just as soon leave it at 'he left me' and not talk about it."

"I don't care about any of that…I mean, what happened? Last I checked he was crazy about you."

She sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "I pushed him away over and over." Wiped at her eyes. "I was so worried about Happy being dead that I didn't see that I was killing Juice in the process. Now he might as well be dead too."

Neeta was silent a long moment, lips pursed, thinking. "Ain't no way to kill a man," she said at last. "Not unless you took a baseball bat to him like my cousin's wife." She chuckled. "You do that?"

"No."

She reached across the table and laid her hand over Ava's stark white one. "We all make mistakes, baby. Everybody 'cept the Good Lord, and that was his whole reason for being, to forgive us."

As much as Ava cringed at the Jesus reference, she didn't expect less; Neeta was wildly religious. And in the moment, it was actually a little comforting.

"That man of yours, he's made mistakes." She nodded, clucking knowingly inside her cheek. "A boy don't run with the Sons of Anarchy if there aren't quite a few mistakes following after him. You're _young_, little girl, and he knows that. Deep down, under all that manly pride, he knows that. And he still loves you."

"I don't know that he does."

"That's the thing about love; it doesn't just _go away_."

Ava sighed and regarded her with what she hoped was a veiled, and not an obvious hope. "You think?"

"I know."

Ava quirked a small smile. "I really have no idea why I'm seeing a therapist."

"Me neither," Neeta said, tone scolding. "Just gonna try to put you on pills."

"I'll watch out for that." She stood and smoothed her skirt. "You want some pie? My treat. The apple is fantastic."

**-O-**

Juice felt twitchy in his own skin around Gemma's dining room table. He spent less and less time, and even less still, these days in front of a computer or TV. He hadn't untangled his Xbox from the pile of shit that he'd hauled from Ava's house. Sitting still made him anxious. He should be doing something _productive. _Fucking or fighting. Drinking. His muscles seemed intolerant of rest anymore and his mind was even more restless.

He had always thought in strange loops and patterns too quick and too inconsistent to try and express in verbal form, so he oversimplified and just settled on outwardly cheerful. But not anymore because his thoughts were on a constant rotation between Rubio and the family he'd lost. As soon as his mind betrayed him and conjured up an image of Ava, he would shut it down fast, going back to Rubio; to techniques, training, names, dates, places, all of it relevant to that motherfucker's demise. And so he was silent on the outside, too consumed for polite chit-chat or fun conversation.

He'd been doing so well, had been so focused, but tonight Ava wouldn't leave his thoughts alone. Maybe it was because it was Christmas and the smells, the decorations, the laughter of his whole SAMCRO family around him made him realize that a vital piece was missing. He couldn't comprehend how she'd been here the year before, at his side, under his arm on the patio counting passing airplanes as stars, and now she wasn't. How could someone be yours, be such a part of you, and then be gone? How could she have hated him so much? What the fuck had he done?

_No. _He told himself firmly. He sealed her off in a hidden compartment in his brain and tried to become involved in the conversation around him.

But after dessert, when the women cleared the table and the guys all went back to the living room, the restless, itchy feeling had doubled, and he was working so hard on not thinking about Ava – and Sam – in this holiday, familial setting, that his head was starting to throb with the effort.

He took his beer and slipped up toward the front of the house, sinking down on the bench of Gemma's upright piano in the formal sitting room just off the foyer. He had thought that going off by himself would help clear his head, but now his thoughts were even more insistent. Ava was determined to overwhelm his mind tonight and it probably was because he'd seen her so recently. It had only been a week since she'd come to try and return his money, and he kept running her words through his head. _I was never fair to you and you were wonderful. I don't know if I can fix things, but I'm trying to fix myself. _

What did that mean for him? That she had learned some sort of lesson? That things would be different? Would his pride even allow him to go back?

The sound of approaching footsteps startled him to alertness and he sat up straighter on the bench. Opie appeared in the threshold, his height the giveaway in the shadows.

"Clay's passing out Cubans if you want in on it."

Juice nodded and stared at his boots. "Yeah…yeah, sure. I'll be back out there in a minute."

But Ope didn't leave – he lingered – and after a moment he took a seat on the plush leather ottoman that dominated the room, arms braced on his thighs as he mirrored Juice's posture. "Is Ava working tonight?"

He had a very obtuse way of circling around an issue, and it was quickly going to get on his nerves. Juice made a face. "I dunno. I don't keep up anymore."

"You should go see her."

He sighed. "And why would I do that, Ope? Things are done. Dead. And I ain't walking through that fire again."

"The way you two were breaking your necks not to look at each other at the diner the other day, I think that counts as _not_ dead. You guys aren't done. It's just words and bullshit grudges, bro."

Juice snorted in disagreement.

"It's hard to find a woman who makes the bullshit worth it. And who understands the club." Opie waited a moment, letting his words soak in, and then he pushed off the ottoman. "Gem made key lime pie too," he offered, and then left.

Juice sat for a long moment in the dark, drinking, and bolstering his courage. He decided he needed a lot more alcohol in him before he could make a decision.

**-O-**

Sam had no idea what Christmas was, and Ava was grateful considering she hadn't been able to afford him an all-out American dream Christmas morning with all the stockings, bows and trappings like every kid deserved. He was happy though, sitting in the middle of his blue blanket she'd drug out into the living room, pumping his arms up and down for no other reason than it was fun, smiling and panting with the effort, gurgling little nonsense phrases accentuated with bubbles.

It was early, just after first light, and Ava was cross-legged on the floor in front of him, clapping her hands and laughing when he did, smiling because he was. He was growing like crazy – at least Tara said so – he was still very much a little baby, but he had a whole head full of downy black hair now that was rubbing out along his crown where the car seat touched. His face was becoming his own; not like Winston Churchill or an alien as Koz and Glen had suggested when he was first born. Round cheeks and huge brown eyes, button nose that she could already envision straightening and looking like his father's. He was such a calm baby – didn't cry too often, always looking at things, saving the big grins for her…and for Juice.

"Are you excited about Christmas?" she asked and he pumped his arms until she thought he might take flight. Ava laughed. "You wanna go see Grammie in a little bit?"

He cooed and warbled an answer, swinging his little fists merrily through the air.

Ava giggled. "How'd you get so handsome, huh?" She leaned forward and he leaned toward her until their foreheads collided softly. Which made him laugh hysterically. Ava grinned until her cheeks hurt. She cherished their alone time. Her perfect baby boy who looked just like his father.

A knock on the door startled her and she in turn scared Sam as she sat back. His face sobered instantly and he went silent, mouth pulled in a tight bow, wispy brows crinkled up. "It's okay," she told him, getting to her feet. She was still in her PJs and smoothed her hair self consciously as she headed for the day. She was cautious, shooting glances behind her to ensure that Sam was still sitting safely on his blanket, trying to peek through the windows to see who could possibly be knocking at eight a.m. on Christmas morning.

Curiosity turned to worry, then to panic as she cracked the door. And then she spotted Juice on her front stoop and her heart stopped completely.

**-O-**

At some point during his evening, Juice had fallen asleep on Clay and Gemma's couch. Clay had awakened him rudely about three a.m., telling him he had to get lost. He'd been too fucked up to ride, so he'd decided a long walk in the cool air might sober him up. The streets had been empty, the houses black and hunkered down along either side of the road. Silent. Ghostly.

Juice walked a long way, until his feet were sore and some of the fog in his head had lifted. He didn't pay attention to his destination; the Morrows lived in one of the nicer neighborhoods – not Oswald's income level, but the next tier down, above the dinky place where Ava lived over off Sycamore. Where he'd lived for a year. He followed the curve of the road until the residential area crossed a side street and gave way to smaller homes with gas stations on the corners. Through undeveloped areas where trees were tall overhead, interlaced branches keeping the moonlight from him, until he reached the wrought iron, spear-tipped fence surrounding the cemetery. Even intoxicated, he knew the symbolism and irony there was too great to stay, so he went back. Bought a pack of smokes at the twenty-four hour food mart and went through half of it on Clay and Gemma's curb. When the blush of first light had stroked along the undersides of the clouds, he'd gotten on his bike and gone to the only place he wanted to be at the moment; Ava's.

Shock was plain on her face. Her hair was rumbled, still dressed in the loose white tank top and shorts she slept in, very little left to the imagination as the cool morning air rushed through the partially opened door. Juice didn't know if she was capable of changing, if the therapy would help, but he sure as hell knew she never would have admitted to going to a shrink if something wasn't different. And she wouldn't have been soft and calm with him if she hated him. At least he hoped not.

"Hey!" she managed after a loaded silence. "Hey." Ava stepped aside and opened the door wide. "You wanna come in? It's awfully early just to stand out there in the cold."

He nodded because he didn't really know what to say to her; shucking the leather jacket he'd worn over his cut as he stepped in and she latched the door behind. Over in front of the sofa, Sam was sitting on his blanket, in red footsie pajamas, making nonsense noises. Juice's heart did a somersault and he glanced over for permission.

Ava nodded and smiled. "Yeah, go ahead." And as he walked toward the baby, her words sent ripples along his skin. "Look who came to see you, Sammy," she cooed. "Who is that? Is that Daddy?"

_Daddy._

By the time he got to Sam, his knees had quit working and he just ass-planted gracelessly on the carpet. He blamed the liquor that was still in his system, but he knew it wasn't the culprit.

Sam flapped his arms and warbled. "Ba-ba-_ooooooo_," and then squealed, his smile huge. He reached toward Juice, fists opening and closing. The universal _pick me up!_

He obliged. "Hey, Sammy."

Ava's bare feet tread lightly across the tile in the kitchen and then she was crouching next to him, steaming coffee cup in hand. No cream, three sugars. His favorite. She went to the sofa and sat in silence, watching them. He hoped she couldn't tell that his heart felt squeezed into two because she'd called him 'daddy'.

**-O-**

He reeked of alcohol; it was like Jim Beam was seeping out of his pores and filling up the room. Ava had been unable to catch her breath a moment when he'd come in because the stench of drunkenness was so strong. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like shit. She had hoped, and God bless Neeta, she'd even prayed, that Christmas might bring him back to her. That he could find it somewhere in his heart to forgive her.

But instead he'd had to find liquid courage before he could stand to be near her. That or this visit was a product of irrational drunk-think. Either way, it broke her heart. Sammy was so happy to see him, and for that she was grateful. She hadn't been able to stop herself, the D-A-D-D-Y word had just come out. It was true, though, and saying it had given her a sort of finality on the subject. She was willing to wait for him. No matter how long it took, or how giving she had to be, she wanted Juice to come home, and she could be patient.

She was sleepy and content to sit for a long time and watch Juice play with Sam. But her phone buzzed with a text message and she knew she had to get ready to head to her parents'. "I've gotta take a shower," she started, tone cautious. "Do you mind sitting with him?"

Juice was on his stomach beside the baby, who was also on his stomach, reading to him. Sam batted at the pages of _The Very Hungry Caterpillar _as Juice turned them. He glanced up and for a moment, it was perfectly possible to think the two on the floor were biologically related. They looked it, but the connection was so strong, it wouldn't have mattered even if they didn't. "Nah, I don't mind."

By the time she'd showered, dressed and fixed her hair, both boys were asleep on the floor together. Juice was on his side, like he was passed out at the clubhouse after a hard party, but had a careful arm circled around the baby. Ava couldn't resist; she tiptoed around them and snapped a picture with her cell phone.

"Juice?" she knelt and shook his shoulder gently. His eyes opened one at a time, groggy and uncoordinated. "I've gotta take him to Mom's."

"Wha…? Oh." He rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his eyes. "Yeah. 'Kay."

They were so cute together – her little one and his dad – that she didn't fight an idea when it came to her. "Do you wanna come with us? Just Mom, Dad and Grammie. Mom always makes too much food anyway."

But he was shaking his head before she'd finished, sitting up. "Nah, I should get going."

Ava was devastated as she watched him get to his feet, Sam cradled in one arm. He kissed the baby on top of the head and then handed him to her. Each silent moment was more painful than the last as he stretched and yawned, put his jacket back on. His hand was on the knob when she couldn't bite her tongue any longer.

"Please, Juice," she blurted. "Won't you come? Please? It's Christmas and -,"

His hard expression cut her off. It was like someone had pulled down a shade, changing his demeanor in an instant. The man who'd been reading to Sam only minutes ago was gone. "I really can't. Sorry." The sound of the door closing behind him was final.

Ava allowed herself a moment of heavy breathing and batted lashes while she hugged Sam and listened to his bike fire up. But then she pulled on her own game face. She was going to be patient, after all, no matter how painful that was.

**-O-**

The TV programming schedule on Christmas officially blew. Juice flipped channels mindlessly at the clubhouse, alternating between the perpetual _Christmas Story _marathon and a bunch of MTV reality reruns. The afternoon shadows grew long and he tried to think about anything other than the family Christmas he'd wanted to have.

It would have been so easy to just accept Ava's offer and go over to the Telfords'. It would have been awkward as hell, but he could have spent the day with Sammy. And then because he had no idea how to even begin to talk to Ava – too afraid that his hurt would get warped into something cruel, or worse, that she'd turn on him again – that they'd end up in bed where they didn't have to talk. And then how did that play out? He wouldn't want to leave, but wouldn't be able to stay. It would just get messy. So he had to stay away. Far, far away, all alone in the clubhouse watching TV and nursing beers that only made his headache worse.

About four o' clock, according to the time stamp on the DVD player, the clubhouse door opened with a squeak and he recognized the soft rap of women's shoes against the hardwood. Some lost Crow Eater with nowhere else to go for the day. Hell…maybe he'd get laid.

But when he turned around in his chair, he wasn't expecting Ava. She had an armful of Tupperware containers that she sat on one of the tables, regarding him carefully.

"Mom had a ton of extra food," she said. Again with the soft doe eyes and trembling voice. "I thought you might be hungry."

He let his eyes wander up the long, denim covered legs, the cream long sleeve tee and red scarf draped around her shoulders. She'd put barrel curls in her hair. And her look was a voiceless plea for him to just talk to her. Show her the tiniest bit of tenderness.

_C'mere, baby. Come lay down with me. I miss you so much. I miss Sam. I wanna kiss you…touch you…wanna be inside you again…I'm ready to come home. Please. _

But he couldn't say any of that. He stared at her a long moment, tongue feeling like concrete. How could he even still love her? And how could it still hurt so much?

"Thanks," he managed finally and turned back to the TV.

There was a pause, and then her heels rapped as she came closer. He could feel her hand hover in the air over the top of his head – she'd always loved to rub his mohawk – but she didn't touch him. "Merry Christmas, Juice." And then she was gone. When the door shut behind her, he had the sense of being sealed into a tomb. Cold. Hard. Empty.

**-O-**

Ava didn't want to sleep alone that night. After she'd showered and scrubbed her face until it was pink and new, she plucked Sam from his crib and took him with her to the empty king size bed that made her heart ache every time she climbed into it. Sam had been asleep, but he came awake with a groggy yawn, looking at her with a baby's innocent curiosity.

"I know," she apologized, settling him on his stomach beside her and stroking his back. "Mama's lonely tonight."

He scrunched up his nose and it made her smile. "I'm glad you got to see Daddy today," she told him, and her smile wavered. "Just wish it hadn't taken me so long to realize that he really was your daddy."

**-O-**

"How ya holdin' in there, Juicy-boy?"

What the fuck, was he wearing a sign or something? _I'm fucking wrecked, please ask me about it. _"Fine," he tossed a nod at Chibs across the car they were looking at in the garage.

"Didn't see you yesterday," the Scot pressed.

Juice huffed a sigh and bent over the engine block. "Didn't think it was a smart move to come."

Thankfully, Chibs didn't comment further, and then he started to feel guilty. Shit…Maggie had sent all that food. Just like Ava called him 'daddy', Chibs and Maggie kept making these overtures as if he were still part of the family. Not just the club family, but their immediate, blood family. Oh, boy…

"Tell Mags thanks for me," he finally managed.

Chibs frowned. "For what?"

"The food she sent."

The VP popped a brow in his standard _say what? _"She sent food with Ava, so the girl don't have to cook this week."

She'd brought him her own food. As a gesture. Juice nodded because he couldn't say anything, and went back to work.

**TBC**


	30. Bullets in the Gun

**AN: **Big thanks to Reaper of the Parker series. She's the brain behind Cassie…who you'll meet at the end of this chap.

…

"_Never see it comin'_

_It just hits you by surprise,_

_It's that cold place in your soul,_

_And that fire in her eyes,_

_That makes you come together, like wild horses when they run,_

_Now the cards are on the table,_

_And the bullet's in the gun."_

_- "Bullets in the Gun", Toby Keith_

**30. Bullets in the Gun**

"He has bottles in the fridge," Ava told Neeta over her shoulder as she wiped down the kitchen counter. "And he's been really digging the mashed carrots for some reason. There's a ton of Gerber in the pantry." She scrubbed hard at a crusty glob of baby food that was caked along the edge of the sink.

"Here," Neeta stepped up beside her. "Baby Boy is fine and I've got this. You go to work 'fore you're late, honey."

"I know, I know," but she lingered a moment longer, tidying the flour and coffee canisters against the backsplash. Every day it was harder and harder to make herself leave the house. And Sam. Neeta was a Godsend. "I'll be back late again, I'm sorry." She picked up a stack of junk mail and scratch paper to throw away.

"That's fine."

She was poised over the garbage when Juice's bold handwriting caught her attention. She plucked the index card from the stack. It was the info for the Harlequin web novella series he'd brought her months ago; back before Sam had been born. On impulse, she folded the card and wedged it down the front of her work shirt, pinned beneath the center clasp of her bra.

"Bye, Sammy," she went to his high chair and kissed the top of his fuzzy head. "I love you."

**-O-**

It was late afternoon at the clubhouse and there were enough regular, non-Son mechanics around these days that Juice got to skip out of work about two most days. He was in front of his laptop, cruising through his email, checking all the intelligence networks like he always did. He had virtual feelers out halfway across the country. Still looking for Rubio. No stone unturned and all that.

He was clicking through spam and junk email, deleting with hardly a second look, when he found it. With the subject line ", Gotcha", his contact at the California DMV had sent him a photo. A red light cam had captured a light runner in an old Caddy with plates registered to someone named Jorge Valdez. And behind the wheel, face plain as day; Sal Rubio.

Juice's pulse kickstarted in his ears loud as a snare drum. "Shit!" He fumbled for pad and paper across his desk. Valdez's home address was actually a warehouse property in Oakland. His contact didn't have anything else, but it was enough. Rubio was in Oakland. And he had an address from which to start his search.

**-O-**

"So what do you think?"

Ava's high school lit teacher studied the notecard with the Harlequin info on it, holding her mass of wavy gray-blond hair off her neck with one hand. Eccentric as always, Mrs. Hagan was in a high-waisted, long denim skirt with silver concho buttons, a white prairie blouse that fell off one freckled shoulder. She was wearing her glasses low on her nose as she read off the info Juice had collected months ago. After a moment, she looked up with a nod, rapping her long red nails against the counter.

"I think you might have something here," she said and Ava felt a tiny pinprick of hope as she rested her palms against the diner's counter. "There are no guarantees in the publishing world," Mrs. Hagan levered a teacher's authority into her voice. "But web publishing is a good way to get your foot in the door."

"One problem though," Ava bit her lip. "I haven't written in months. I don't have anything to submit. _And _my old magazine articles were non-fiction. I haven't done any stories in a long time."

She smiled rather smugly and leaned over the counter, dropping her voice. "It doesn't have to be a masterpiece, just slap some vampires and sex into a seventy-thousand word format and someone will gobble that stuff up."

Ava snorted. "So let's say I crank out some supernatural love drivel…which I'm not entirely sure I can even do…what's to say I'll catch anyone's attention?"

"Ava, my dear," Mrs. Hagan pulled the spoon out of her coffee and laid it down on the counter, accepting Ava's offer of a warmer refill. "You've got a story inside you of epic proportions."

Ava grinned disbelievingly.

"But you're not in a position to write it yet. For now, it's not about your talent so much as it's about who you know."

"Which is no one."

"That's where you're wrong." The teacher pulled her Blackberry out of her purse and scrolled through her list of contacts. "My friend Julie writes category romance – we met at a conference years ago – and she's attending one in Seattle this weekend."

Ava stared at her a moment as if to say ",_so…?"_

"The Washington branch of the Romance Writers of America is holding a three day conference. Guest speakers and agent meet-and-greets. Julie's on the board, so she can get you signed up even this late."

There were a thousand reasons to say yes. But just as many to say no. She'd never been away from Sam overnight. And what if Juice decided the three days she was gone was the time to reach back out to her; only she wasn't there. She started to shake her head. "I dunno…"

"Three days," Mrs. Hagan urged. "And more contacts than you could gain after three _years_ surfing the net. This is your future, Ava. I know you don't want to wait tables forever; not with a college degree collecting dust on a shelf."

At another moment in time, Ava would have been delighted. Thankful even. But everyone and their mother, brother, sister, goddamn hairdresser had been telling her what to do with her life and how to fix her problems ever since Hap had died. Koz had told her she'd never been allowed to grow up properly, and she could see that now. She wasn't allowed to think for herself because she had always been, and would always be, the love struck teenager with her head so far up her ass she couldn't make a single move on her own. Everyone treated her like an idiot.

Except Juice.

She shook her head. "I really don't think now is the time to get involved with some new venture."

Mrs. Hagan was at least sharper than some people who liked to push; she nodded, averting her eyes in a gesture that told Ava she wouldn't pursue the topic further. "I'll put a call into Julie, but if I don't hear from you by tonight, I'll assume you can't make it."

"Thanks," Ava let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Every time I start to think about my career…my family reminds me it's more important."

**-O-**

Toni Fischer drove past Teller-Morrow Automotive on her way to the hospital every morning. And every morning she wondered about the environment her twenty-two year old patient came from. Ava Telford had been a mess of a whole different kind. She had symptoms common with an absent father and obsessive grief over a lost loved one. But it had been this recurring theme of not leaving the "MC" – whatever the hell that was – and making up for some sort of "wrong" she'd committed against this latest boyfriend. Who Fischer was about damn sure with a name like "Juice" was just an abusive thug trying to keep a young woman under his thumb. This biker crowd was not the environment for someone like Ava, and especially not for her young son. It was just a bad situation; one in which she shouldn't involve herself.

But still, her foot lifted off the gas of her Volvo as she neared the gates of the auto garage. There was something tragic about Ava's story; an unstable childhood, the death of her child's father, what Fischer herself guessed to be violence committed against her. As she drew closer and closer to the shop's entrance, her doctoral need to look after her patient's well being won out over logic. "I can't believe I'm doing this," she muttered to herself as she pulled into the lot.

**-O-**

Maggie glanced up at the sound of a soft knock on the office door. She was poised over the desk, sorting through the piles of invoices, reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, and was startled to see a well-dressed blond in the threshold. She was in khakis and a chocolate turtleneck, gold jewelry. Her hair screamed female politician. Maggie was instantly suspicious. "Can I help you?" she removed her glasses and sat back in her chair, studying.

The blond stepped into the office slowly, eyes darting around, mouth curled like she was displeased with what she saw. "Maybe," she edged closer to the desk, still scoping out the place. "My name's Dr. Toni Fischer and I'm -,"

"Ava's shrink," Maggie finished with an unhappy smirk. "Shoulda guessed it. We don't get too many power slacks in here."

The doc recoiled visibly, hand over her chest. She recovered – somewhat. "I was hoping to speak to Ava's father, or maybe Jean Carlos. I think they work here."

"They do, but you won't get anywhere with those two. I'm her mom…Maggie…sit."

She did, setting her purse across her lap and hugging it like she was afraid for the patent leather to come in contact with the spotted old concrete floor. Maggie couldn't much blame her for that one.

"So, you're my daughter's therapist, huh?"

The doc shifted in the chair; either because she didn't like the terminology, or because she was afraid for both ass cheeks of her pressed khakis to touch the chair at once. "I'm a licensed psychiatrist, but I've been spending some time with grief counseling at St. Thomas. And yes, Ava's been seeing me."

Maggie leaned back and swiveled her chair side to side, arms crossed. "But I'm guessing that, thanks to doctor-patient confidentiality, you aren't here to tell me how to fix what ails her, am I right?"

Again, Dr. Fischer made a face.

"I might be working a desk in biker boots, but I'm not a dumbass, doc. I know how things work with you people."

"You people?"

"Head shrinkers and voodoo priestesses," Maggie grinned ", at least that's what my ex calls you guys." Tig would have been proud.

The doc sighed. "I see where your daughter gets her guarded nature."

"Unfortunately, doc, we're all a bit like that. Ava's not unique in that respect."

"I'm not the enemy, Mrs. Telford. I'm trying to help your daughter."

"She's my only child and I'm more than a little protective."

"I can see."

"She's been dealt a shit hand she didn't deserve."

"I can see that also."

Maggie heaved a sigh. "I want my daughter to be happy, Dr. Fischer; however and with _whom_ever that may be. She wants Juice, and I dunno if that's gonna work out. They're both drowning."

For the first time, she looked interested, leaning forward in her chair. "Can you tell me about Jean…Juice? I'd love to gain some insight into that situation."

Maggie shook her head a fraction. "Juice is exactly what she always needed. At least…he used to be."

**-O-**

Jax stood silent, arms folded, leaned back against the clubhouse's bar and nodding along as Juice reported his latest findings on Rubio. Beside him, Chibs was stroking his goatee, eyes narrowed to thoughtful slits; which was a tad unnerving because the look was one Juice had seen a number of times on the man's daughter.

"A'ight," Jax said when he was finished. "You got any idea how long Rubio's gonna be in that location? Or do we have to move early?"

Juice held a stack of scribbled intel in his hands, but he didn't have to consult his notes. "Right now, the warehouse is getting shipments every Monday and Thursday, and deals are made Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Business is good right now; they're creaming the competition, so unless he gets tipped off, no reason for the asshole to cut and run yet."

"What's he dealin'?" Chibs asked.

"H."

The Prez and VP traded a look, some sort of officer language passing through their eyebrow lifts. Jax finally fixed him with a hard stare. "Gather all the intel you possibly can. Church tonight. And then we'll call Tacoma."

Juice nodded, adrenaline coursing through his system. "'Kay."

**-O-**

When Dr. Fischer tucked her clutch bag under one arm and left the Teller-Morrow office thirty minutes later, she'd learned absolutely nothing. Only furthered her thought that Ava's family was the root of her problems. And not one of these people was willing to split the girl's wound and suck out the poison. Ava Telford was going to get swept up and pulled down hard by the undertoe of this biker gang. And that poor baby of hers didn't have a prayer.

She chewed the inside of her lip in frustration as she crossed the lot to her car, low heels clipping along the pavement. She was watching where she stepped, looking out for grease puddles, and didn't see the guy walking around the trunk of her car until she was at the driver side door.

She halted, drawing in a sharp breath that caught his attention. His head snapped up; he'd been reading her license plate it looked like. That or figuring how long it would take to jimmy her trunk open and nab her Coach briefcase. He was about 5'10", tan, probably Hispanic, sleeves of his work shirt rolled up over sinister tattoo work. His eyes were hidden behind black plastic shades, but his jaw looked clenched tight. Most striking was the hair – the buzzed black mohawk – and the tattoos on either side of it. Tribal lightening bolts that slid all the way down the back of his head. He was thuggish and frightening. Toni felt herself draw out her purse, prepared to bash it against his inked head if he came near her.

"Ca…can I help you?" she couldn't believe she stuttered.

His mouth pulled to the side in a nasty non-smile and his brows jumped up over his shades. "MD plates," he said, like he knew who she was; like he had a secret about her that maybe _she _didn't even know.

She pressed up against the side of her Volvo when he walked her direction. He smirked, leaning close a moment. He smelled like cigarettes. The veins stood out in his neck. He could have killed her in an instant, put his ringed hands around her neck and choked the life out of her. "Don't believe everything she tells you, Doc. Little girl's a drama queen."

Toni felt herself sag when he walked away, heart thundering. "Jesus," she whispered, trying to pull herself together. She chose to ignore the terrifying fact that this guy knew exactly who she was. And refused to make the connection that "little girl" was Ava and that _this _was the Jean Carlos she'd been crying over for weeks.

She watched the mohawked biker disappear into the shadows of a garage bay as she cranked her car to life. "Gangster punk," she muttered. "What a lost cause."

**-O-**

Ava got off her shift at the diner at three. She called Neeta on the way to the car; to tell her that she was on her way home, but the nanny informed her that Maggie had picked the baby up thirty minutes before, wanting some grandma time. Ava sat behind the wheel of her truck a long moment, tapping the index card against the dash – it now included the name and number of Mrs. Hagan's friend Julie as well as all relevant writing conference info.

It would be smart to go; Sam would be fine between Neeta, Maggie and Diane. She might make beneficial writing contacts, gain some inspiration for a new project, get back to the life she'd intended to have before Hap had died.

But she frowned, staring through the windshield at the diner. _Before Hap had died. _Things had been different then. She'd been walking around in her little bubble of bliss. But now she had Sam, and a house, and an ex she'd give her left arm to get back. In light of all that, a writing conference seemed so insignificant.

Her head felt congested with ideas; everyone had all the answers but her, and everyone knew what was best for her and she was still out of the loop. Too much noise, too many distracters. If there had ever been anything she was completely sure about, it had been Happy. With new purpose, she flipped the notecard into the passenger seat and started up her truck.

The cemetery was empty save for the groundskeeper; Ava spotted his station wagon as she drove past the stretch of family crypts. The trees were bare, their branches throwing shadows that reached like fingers over the brown grass. Buds were already sprouting on the willows and cherries, the shrubs were evergreen and dark emerald.

Ava had always liked graveyards…before. Now she felt her breath get lodged in her chest as she left her truck on the winding asphalt drive and walked across the grass. She hadn't been back since the funeral, but she knew exactly where his headstone was. On the opposite side of the drive from the veteran markers, beyond Donna Winston.

She found the chunk of polished granite and lowered herself slowly to the ground, pulse a sluggish thump in her ears. Her head swam, vision blurring behind a sheen of tears. The silk carnations had faded. The grass was smooth; there were no signs that the ground had been upturned by a backhoe, or that a casket had been lowered into the earth. She reached forward and traced the engraved letters one by one.

_Happy_

_Samuel James Morales_

_He Lived, He Died, He Killed_

_For His Family_

_1968 – 2016_

The tears started and she didn't even try to rein them in. "Hi, honey," she whispered brokenly. "I'm so sorry I haven't been by to see you." She dabbed at her cheeks, hand quivering, unable to even vocalize how much she missed him. It was silly, really, to talk to a headstone, but she felt like she needed to. He would have done anything for her…she could speak aloud to his grave marker.

"You should see Sam," she found a smile somewhere. "God, he's so beautiful. You'd be so proud of our little man. When he smiles," she felt her own widen ", he's got your dimples. He's all you in miniature. And he's so _smart_, Happy. Such a serious baby. I wish I knew what went on in his head sometimes, he always looks like he's thinking."

She hiccupped. "I know you never wanted kids. But you would have loved him. I know you would have. He's…amazing. I look at him and he's us; me and you." A hard knot swelled in her throat until she thought she couldn't breathe. "You did so much for me, but of everything, he's the best. He's the proof, of what we had, of how you took care of me. Even when I'm _so angry _that you left me, I look at him…_he's_ my everything now."

"And maybe it's selfish…God, I dunno. But I love that he saves the big smiles for me. And for…Juice."

She sighed, tilted her head back and felt scattered sunbeams on her face. "I dunno what I'm gonna do about Juice. I really fucked up this time, Hap. So bad."

Ava hadn't intended to talk to Hap about Juice, really she hadn't, but the words started tumbling out before she could contain them. "He tried so hard, baby, really he did. He was so good to me. He loves Sam…boy does he love Sammy…and I ruined him. I killed him."

Another wipe at her eyes. The sun had shifted positions. She must have sat silent longer than she realized. Light beams criss-crossed with the shadows of weeping cherry limbs danced across the headstone. There was a heaviness in chest, one she'd carried with her all those times she'd gripped Juice's shoulders with her fingers, relishing in the feel of him working in and above her, all the while feeling as if she were betraying Happy. Maybe if…perhaps she should…he deserved to know, to hear it from her directly…

"You were my whole heart," she said quietly. "And nothing's gonna ever dim that. But you died. You were gone. And Juice was here, just like you wanted. And I fell hard." She paused. "I love him, Hap. And I wanted to tell you myself."

She heaved a huge sigh after she said it, the tension inside her slackening. It was all mental, she knew, but now it was final. She'd said it. No going back.

She heard the brush of boot soles over grass a full four seconds after she realized there was someone approaching her from behind.

**-O-**

Out with Jax, coming back from a meet with Alvarez to ensure that knocking off Rubio wouldn't disrupt the Mayan/Son treaty, Chibs spotted a familiar black truck along the cemetery drive. The flat expanse of green could be seen from the road – most of the fifteen acres in total – and he didn't need a second look to know who was out there wandering amongst the tombstones. He leaned over and tapped Jax, earning a nod when the Prez recognized the question. When the light changed, Jax and Opie headed back for the clubhouse, and Chibs turned in at the gates, winding down the long asphalt drive until he was parked behind the Ford.

Ava was sitting on her knees in the grass, zippered hoodie pulled tight around her narrow shoulders. He could hear her talking as he approached; just a low murmur of words he couldn't make out.

He hadn't spoken to her since Christmas. She'd been distracted, hadn't so much as made eye contact across the table. Forced a smile for her mother and grandmother, had taken care of Sam. But she'd also dropped a plate on the kitchen floor, shattering it. Had used her napkin to dab at her eyes when she thought no one was looking. She had been more alive than he'd seen her in a year; no longer a zombie, but a heartbroken girl who was fighting. Struggling. Hurting. But she had still been on the other side of the glass wall that separated them. He'd failed her and she hated him.

It felt wrong to intrude on her moment – _their _moment. Watching her with Happy, when he'd been alive, had always seemed wrong. There were those fleeting little times when Hap's face softened just a touch and he showed her a flicker of tenderness the rest of the world wasn't privy to. Chibs had always averted his eyes during those moments. And though she spoke to a headstone, that's what this felt like; a raw, unguarded meeting between them he shouldn't invade.

But he walked up behind her anyway. She'd stopped talking. Her spine stiffened.

"You're a terrible sneak," Ava said, voice flat.

Chibs sighed. "Aye. What gave me away?"

"All your bikes sound a little different. I recognized yours."

He let a long beat of silence pass, wondering if she'd turn around or stand up. "How's he doin'?"

Her response was instant, rapid-fire, like clipping a few rounds out of an AK with a hair squeeze of the trigger. "Like you care."

"Hey, now," he caught his tone before it became too caustic, reminding himself what she was feeling. Cleared his throat. "He was a brother first, before he was your Old Man, 'course I care. Gave me a grandson too."

Probably five minutes passed before she spoke. "The day Sammy was born, and you came into the room and held him…I was so angry." She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears. A breeze ruffled between them, lifting clothes and scattering dead leaves. "It's too late for you and me. But I don't want Sam to call you his grandfather if you're not gonna be there as one."

Chibs blew out a loud breath. "When he died…shit, luv, I had no idea how to help you."

"No one did. But they at least tried. _You _could've tried."

And that was just it, wasn't it? No matter how helpless he'd felt, she'd been going through absolute hell. Even when it made him angry, she was often right. Just like her damn mother that way.

She looked so beautiful sitting there, frail almost. Her skin china-white and her hair nearly black in the shade, falling around her shoulders. The gold of the ring she still wore around her neck on a long chain caught little flecks of light. But she was so much more than what she looked like on the outside. She was the survivor of the Irish wrath; the girl with low odds of even being born. She was a bridge between so many members of the SOA family; through blood, and through the love people had for her. The girl who'd brought Happy Morales to his knees. And who'd turned Juice's dumb ass into a real father. Ava didn't even know, Chibs realized, what kind of a SAMCRO legacy she was.

"Your mum wants to see ya," he said when he couldn't find any more words. "Meet her at Clay's she said. She's got the baby."

Without looking at him, she stood, brushed the dead grass off the seat of her jeans, and leaned over to press her lips against the polished granite headstone.

**-O-**

Maggie's black CTS was parked beside Gemma's Escalade in the Morrow drive. Ava had an idle wonder if she'd join the black Cadillac club of Old Ladies one of these days. But thought better of it considering she wasn't anyone's Old Lady anymore. Emotionally drained from the cemetery, she heaved a little sigh and climbed out of her truck, forcing each step she took up the two-story tan stucco's front walk.

The door was open, and at the burglar alarm's chime, Gemma's cockatoo whistled.

"Back here, babe," the Queen called and Ava followed the noise – the chatter of bird and baby – and found them in the dining room.

"Hi, sweetie," Maggie greeted. She was holding Sam and Ava took him from her, hefting him up so she could tuck him against her shoulder. He laughed and it sent a direct shot of warmth through her, easing her worry over whatever this occasion was.

Gemma was standing behind her usual chair, rings tapping against the wood as she smacked her fingers against the smooth finish. She nodded toward the vacant seat next to Maggie. "You hungry?"

Ava shook her head as she sat. "No." She rearranged Sam so he faced the table in her lap. "What's this about, guys?"

Gemma released an anticipatory breath and settled into her chair, cueing Maggie with a look. Whatever this was, they'd discussed it at length. And as usual, Ava felt completely at their mercy.

Maggie had been sipping a Coke and rapped her nails against the can, shifting so she could look Ava straight in the face. "Dr. Fischer came by T-M today."

"She what?" Ava looked between them. "Why?"

Maggie made a face. "Not to talk about you – that whole privilege thing – but she was digging. Making doctor eyes at me and trying to get me to explain all the woes of your childhood. Wanted to see your dad and Juice."

"Jesus." She felt betrayed, the anger already bubbling up in her stomach. "That stupid bitch."

Gemma snorted a laugh. "MDs don't come with common sense."

"She didn't bother them, did she? Dad and Juice?"

"No," Maggie assured. "I gave her walking papers. But…" she glanced down at Sam, reaching to squeeze one of his little fat hands. "She made me worry, Ava."

"About…?"

"There's reasons we don't seek _professional _help," Gemma said. Ava glanced her direction and saw her playing with an unlit cigarette. Her eyes were wide, mouth pulled into her _isn't this obvious _expression. "What that doc wants you to do…the way she thinks you handle your problems…MC will run over your ass if you play by those rules."

Ava nodded. "I know, I know. But this is about fixing me, it doesn't have anything to do with the club."

"Baby," Gemma leaned across the table. "You don't _need _fixing."

Ava sat back in her chair. Of course she needed fixing. She'd been sedative-worthy psycho after Hap's death. Had pushed the one good man out of her life and turned him into a robotic asshole. She needed cement to piece her back together.

But Gemma was shaking her head. "You lost, for all intents and purposes, your husband. And the father of your unborn child. That was a kill shot, sweetheart, and it's taken a long time, but you're _healing. _You didn't break apart like plastic. You're a real woman, and you needed to be healed, not fixed."

"We don't want you to get wrapped up in finding yourself," Maggie said. "We could all spend a lifetime 'fixing ourselves' and still be fucked up."

Gemma nodded. "Normal to us is not normal to them."

Them. The outside world. The ninety-nine percent of law-abiding bikers. The people who turned their noses up at reaper patches and crow tattoos.

Ava was sitting with one arm around Sam, the other stretched out, palm flat on the table as she absorbed what they were telling her. God…this was the truth, wasn't it? Not the world's truth, but _her _truth.

Maggie laid a hand over hers and squeezed lightly. "We don't want you to give up what you want just in the interest of being a better person."

"We're all a little crazy, baby," Gemma said. "It's what keeps us alive."

Maggie squeezed her hand harder. "Forget the shrink, forget fixing. Time to pick your life back up and put it back on the tracks. What do you want, Ava?"

She bounced Sam on her knee, frowning. "I want Sam to have everything he needs. Mrs. Hagan thinks I could get into some web writing, she gave me the number of -,"

"Stop," Gemma cut her off. Her dark eyes were intense, like everything in the world hinged on what she was about to say. Even with the lines on her face and the figuratively removed crown that now belonged to Tara, she was every inch the Queen.

Footsteps sounded in the hall, Ava jerked her head and saw Clay. He was frozen in the doorway, beer in hand. He glanced at all of them. "I'll come back later." And then returned to the living room.

"Ava," Gemma pulled her attention again. "What do you want? Not the job – that's just money. What do you _really _want?"

The wall on the clock ticked away the seconds. The cockatoo cracked open peanuts from his perch on the sideboard, the shells loud and crunchy. Sam was making little gurgling sounds as he sucked on her wrist; she could feel his drool sliding down her arm. She knew what she wanted. She knew exactly what she _really _wanted.

"I want my family back together. I want Juice."

Gemma's lips curved upward and she rapped a ring against the table. "Then go _get _him."

**-O-**

Juice had popped an Adderall mid-afternoon and had worked his fingers over his laptop keys until the knuckles were stiff. He'd pored over maps. The phone calls and emails. Excitement coiling up like a black ugly snake in his gut as he came closer and closer still. And then church had finally come and with all eyes on him, he'd laid out page after page of printouts on the redwood table, rolled out his big map of the crazy patchwork of downtown Oakland. They let him talk, nodding here and there, and when he finally sat back in his chair, he was exhausted.

After a long pause, Bobby glanced over at Jax. "Makes more sense to go in on a delivery night. They'll be busy, distracted, no customer foot traffic."

"Yeah," Jax nodded.

"Tacoma can be down here by tomorrow night," Opie said. That'll give us all day Thursday to set it up, get ready."

Juice waited, arms feeling full of pins, their voices fading to rumbles and murmurs around him. It didn't matter what day or what time Jax decided. He would be there. Rubio's face was a fixed image in his mind. That fucker was going to get his. Finally. After all this time and all this grief he'd caused, that asshole was about to be ended.

The bang of the gavel roused him. Jax was staring down the table at him. "Call Tacoma. Tell 'em to get on the road if they want in."

The snake in his belly sat up like a cobra, hissing, its fangs sharp.

And so it began.

**Tacoma, WA**

The soft glow of the bedside lamp washed over his bare torso, not able to reach the grooves between his pecs and abs, the play of shadow highlighting his chiseled physique. He really was an exceptionally well-built man; Kozik. Cassie knew his first name, just like she also knew that he didn't like for it to be used. He'd told her that first day that everyone who gave a shit about him called him "Koz", so she did too. Lucas – already convinced that the blond biker walked on water – thought he was all the cooler for having just one name like that. Like Elvis, like Bono…he was just Koz.

She propped up on one elbow, flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder, and stopped fighting the urge to touch him. His stomach was still misted with sweat, the muscles flickered at the contact of her fingers, and a smile curved her lips as she traced aimless patterns across his skin. She tried to catch her breath, still reeling, her body thumping in time to her pulse. The past three months had obliterated her ", book by its cover," belief. Koz looked like sex on wheels…and he fucked like it too.

He let out a loud, very self-satisfied sigh. "You're about six inches too high, darlin'."

Cassie snorted a laugh and reached lower across his belly, teasing him with her nails and going just to the left of where he wanted, earning a twitch of eyebrows and a feral half-smile.

"Now, you're just asking for it."

She pulled her hand up and slid it across his chest, snuggling up to his side. "I might be," she admitted, dropping a kiss on his collarbone.

It was only a moment before his hands cupped either side of her head, fingers threaded through her hair, and he was pulling her up, lips finding hers in what felt like an old habit. Cassie closed her eyes and couldn't stifle a soft moan when his tongue invaded her mouth. Her leg crept across his hips until she straddled him, getting caught up in the kiss, heat washing through her again. Their nights together kept getting longer, more entangled, more intimate, overlapping into mornings and afternoons. Though on top, she could feel the coiled power of the Son beneath her – knew he could snap her in half – and found a whole new urgency in the knowledge that instead he chose to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her in tight against his chest.

A cell phone trilled to life and shattered the moment. Koz groaned as he broke the kiss and Cassie sat up with a sigh, pushing her hair behind her ears.

"Do you have to get that?"

"It's the prepay, I've got to," there was an apology to his voice.

She nodded and moved away from him, snuggled into the warm sheets he'd vacated; hugging his pillow and watching him retrieve his phone from the pile of clothing on the floor. She smiled, eyes roving over his naked form, but it quickly faded when she picked up on the suddenly serious note of his voice.

"Yeah? Shit…really?" He scooped up his boxers and managed to step into them one-handed. "Yeah, yeah, no, I know." Cassie sat up when he reached for his jeans. His body language had changed completely; shoulders square and spine stiff. The soft, playful look on his face when he'd dropped her down on the bed earlier was gone; replaced with a focused hardness she rarely saw, but knew he dealt in spades out in the cold, cruel biker world. "Yeah, I'll hit up Glen and we'll get on the road. No prob. Keep me posted, man."

Cassie knew her face fell as fast as the bottom of her stomach when Koz turned to her, snapping his cell shut. She'd been around just long enough to know that he had to take off at times – that his motorcycle club was the most important thing in his life – but not long enough to have earned the right to know what any of it was about. "You have to go, don't you?"

"I made a promise to a guy about a girl," he said, cryptic, pulling on his layers of t-shirts and long sleeves.

At the mention of "girl", Cassie felt a tingle of something. Not jealousy, not distrust…just…something. But he explained before she could even dwell.

"You remember when I had to head to Cali about a month ago?" He fitted the leather tongue of his belt through its big silver buckle. "Her name's Ava. Twenty-two." He cracked a grin. "Got uncle status."

Ah, the infamous niece of previous mention. Her hackles smoothed instantly. "Your twenty-two year old niece and twenty-eight year old..." she fumbled for a word. "Me. By that logic, you could be my uncle."

"Nah. I practically helped raise this kid. Besides, I'd only be _your _uncle in the _Pretty Woman _sense," he said with a smirk.

That got a grin, but a brief one. Cassie flipped back the covers and slipped out of bed, shrugging into her favorite oversize t-shirt from its spot on the end of the bed. She'd been wearing it and old flannel lounge pants when Koz had knocked on the door that night. She'd felt sloppy and gross, hair falling out of her ponytail and smelling like the onions she was frying for meatloaf, but he'd kissed her hard and winked, not caring about any of that. Her goosebumps now weren't from the chill in the air, but the memory of his hands peeling the baggy shirt up over her head.

He was gearing up now, tucking his gun in the back waistband of his jeans, double-checking his cell and wallet. "I'll walk you out," she offered when he glanced up, and she swore he looked relieved. Many women would have misread that relief. She knew that there were times when the club's need for him was immediate; no time for drawn out explanations, no big goodbyes. Hell, forget time, there were things he flat-out _couldn't _tell her. And so now, he was relieved that she understood and didn't hound him with questions, didn't pout, knew what the club was to him.

Cassie followed as he went out into the hall, surprised when he paused at Lucas' door. Luc adored him; crazy biker hero worship stuff. And her five-year-old son was her one sticking point. If Koz just didn't come back one run, she could bury herself in tissues and chocolate for a week – sadly, she'd become that attached – but Luc would be heartbroken. Children didn't understand that shit happened and people left.

She smiled almost sadly as she watched Koz put a hand on the knob and then go still again. He'd spent most of the evening watching her boy play with Matchbox cars. Helping him set up coffee table book ramps and magazine bridges. It was so easy in those moments, watching him with Luc, to forget what he was – the outlaw biker, and to just get lost in _who _he was – a guy who was really sweet with her kid.

Slowly, he cracked the door and looked in. Luc was asleep on his stomach, green stuffed stegosaurus tucked tight under one arm. His PJs had cars on them. Eyes closed and face smooth, almost angelic.

"Be safe out there," Cassie said before she could stop herself. Koz glanced at her over his shoulder before he closed Luc's door. She tilted her head. "He'd miss you if you didn't come back."

"Yeah? What about his mama?"

She flicked a smile. "She'd miss you too."

**TBC**


	31. I Don't Believe You

**31. I Don't Believe You**

_It was the kind of day so warm it choked you; the August air so hot and so dry you didn't feel like there was enough fluid oxygen to draw into your lungs. The grass was lush, green. The tree boughs heavy with leaves. The weeping cherries and willows brushed along the ground, great curtains of emerald that hid little pockets of tombstones here and there, sun skimming through in razor sharp patches. _

_Juice stood a little to the side of and behind Maggie and Chibs, on the edge of the cemetery drive where just a few vehicles remained. The MC procession had already thundered away. The minister, the pall bearers, everyone was gone. The tent had been taken down, the green Astroturf carpet rolled up, the chairs lugged off in the back of a flatbed. _

_But Ava still sat there, on her knees, in the grass. Her dress was black and swallowed her up, like she'd lost fifteen pounds in the past week. Maggie had done her hair; he just knew. Her spine was curled, but she didn't shake, didn't move. She just sat. The backhoe operator was leaning against his machine, smoking, giving the girl the stink-eye, but she just sat there._

_Juice felt like he should do something. It felt like there were sandbags draped across his shoulders. Eyes had been on him during the ceremony. He'd stood behind her chair and the looks had asked a thousand questions._

_He left her to you, yeah? You gonna step up? You gonna pussy out? How you gonna handle it? _

_The backhoe guy flung up his hands. _What the fuck?

_Ava sat there. Only she wasn't alone. Kozik was cross-legged in the grass next to her, talking so softly none of them could hear him. But Juice could guess the sentiments expressed. Koz spoke that secret language of Ava – the right mix of understanding and buck up – but he was consoling. Sympathetic. _

_She was only twenty-one, and everyone present had known what Happy meant to her. She was so young to be dealing with this. To sit there by the casket, his cut in her lap, and let each and every Son in attendance bend down to kiss her cheek. It was all so surreal, so wrong. And standing behind her chair, Juice had seen her whole body quaking, overcome with the shivers. He'd kept his hands on the chair though, shaking just a little himself, remembering the stairwell and the blood and the light going out of Hap's eyes._

_Ava and Koz sat there so long Juice felt his knees lock up and go numb. The shadows grew longer and longer over the grass. The backhoe fired up and the guy manning it yelled ", I gotta fill this fuckin' hole!" to which Koz flipped him the bird. But the Tacoma Sgt at Arms stood finally, taking Ava's hand and dragging her up with him._

_Ava staggered though, nearly collapsed, and Juice felt himself step forward. Koz caught her, effortlessly scooped her up like a damsel in a movie and settled her against his chest, her feet in the black stiletto heels dangling over his arm as he turned back to face them._

_Juice felt his pulse grow sluggish, panic making him moving-through-Jell-o slow rather than anxious. Koz's face was set at hard angles. Ava's eyes were shut; she'd fainted._

_Koz shot Maggie a look and she peeled away from her husband, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief still as she followed. Kozik came right up to him, shifting the unconscious girl, and Juice felt his own arms come up as if in a slow-mo trance. The handoff was seamless, Ava settled against him, he hooked an arm under her knees and cradled her shoulders with the other so her head rested in the crook of his neck and didn't flop back. Terror grabbed him hard. Worry. Stress._

_Koz's voice was full of gravel when he spoke. "I don't think I need to tell you what you have to do here."_

Juice rolled to his other side and clutched the pillow hard, fighting through the fog of early morning sleep. His ADD would keep him bobbing along beneath the surface of consciousness, at moments awake, at others asleep, chunks of the past coming back to haunt him, strange dreams getting him tangled sometimes.

He stared across the gray, pre-dawn light filtering into his dorm room. His empty, stale-smelling, depressing dorm room. He'd had other girls in this room; lots of them. All shapes and sizes, none of them what he craved. The sex was empty and left him wanting more, made the hollow ache in his chest worse.

With his eyelids flagging again, he could almost imagine that Ava was behind him, on her back, staring at the ceiling. And that if he rolled over, it'd be the most natural thing in the world to climb up over her on his arms and brush the dark hair off her face, push up the hem of the oversize t-shirt she was wearing and guide their bodies together. He choreographed it in his mind; her gasps, the grab of her nails in his skin, the delicious way he fit inside her. The way he would raise up enough to glance down between them, watch the way he worked in and out of her.

She'd want to cuddle afterward. She was a cuddler. Her fingers liked to trace his ink. He would be able to smell her shampoo. Her skin would be silk under the calluses on the pads of his fingers.

Juice rolled over, and found the other side of the bed cold and empty. His stomach cramped up like it had been punched. In a little while, when he was fully awake and amping up for the day, he wouldn't feel a thing about Ava, but right now, the sadness was acute to the point of grief. He rolled over again and put his face in the pillow, searching for sleep.

**-O-**

Ava's favorite times of the day were when she got to be alone with Sam. He'd taught her to love the early morning; the newborn sunlight so pure and pale as it speared through the nursery blinds, not strong enough to be warm on her back as she rocked slowly in the black lacquer chair that matched his crib. She held him in the crook of one arm, the bottle in her free hand. He sucked hard; he was strong. And she was convinced that he looked at her, really _saw _her, and it wasn't just the blank look of a baby.

"You're my smart boy, huh?"

The day before felt like a milestone to her now. She'd gone to see Hap, and now, in the first light of morning, as she gazed down at Sam who was going to have Hap's nose and Hap's dimples, it was Juice she wished stood behind them, arm across the back of the rocker. In their rigid, hardass, MC way, Gemma and Maggie had helped her. They didn't want to hold her back; they wanted her to prioritize. And there were plenty of women out there who would have put careers ahead of families; but she'd already had her family – it was just busted up a little. No sense throwing it away. She wanted to pursue her writing, wanted to tap into that "epic story" Mrs. Hagan insisted she had…but first, she wanted her man. Because she and Sam, they needed Juice. She had always wanted a family, wanted to make up for the father she'd never had and the mother who was heartbroken half the time.

Sammy reached up and swatted at the bottle, grabbing at it. Ava smiled at him. She wanted him to smile more than his father had. To smile like Juice did; like the whole damn world was an amusement park. Wanted him to be happy, to have the nuclear family life she hadn't.

Did she need to work on her own issues; yes. But she didn't have to do it alone. And she didn't have to wait for some magical right time, because there wasn't going to be one. It was time to stop waiting – on her grief to fade, on her head to straighten out, on Juice to come back on his own – and time to start doing.

It was her life, no one else's, and it was hers to make.

"We're gonna get him back," she told Sam, voice firm. "We are. No more settling."

**-O-**

Juice's day began on the pavement; as the sun was just getting good and settled in the sky, he took a long loop through town, until sweat poured off him and even the shorts that were all he wore felt like too much clothing. Then it was pushups, crunches, a round or five with the bag. No one even spared him a look anymore. It was so commonplace that he worked himself into a near-coma, that not one of his brothers even bothered to ask if he was okay, did he need a Gatorade, was he sure it was all worth this.

Tacoma was on the way; Koz and another guy. And until they arrived, there was nothing he could do but try to burn off his nervous energy. He showered, finally, and decided to clock some hours in the garage. He hadn't even started working on his first car, was scanning through the work order and leaning back against its trunk when he had an episode like that morning; when the past snuck up and bit him in the ass.

_She was a cute thing; Chibs' kid. Her Converse sneakered feet dangled out of the open window of the convertible she was sitting in. From his position half under the car's hood, Juice could watch her loose white shoelaces dangle as she swiveled her ankles around. He smiled. She was fifteen and struggling with her algebra homework. Ava had her textbook propped up in her lap, tapping the spine with her pencil, frowning. _

"_What's the next one?" he prodded as he reached for the wrench he'd laid out on the work bench beside him. _

"_Four X plus eighteen Y minus six Z equals…" she sighed. "I can barely manage X, why the hell all the other numbers? I hate this."_

_He chuckled and moved around the car, extended a greasy hand for her book. She gladly handed it over. He found the equation, marking it with a black smudge from his index finger. "It's not so bad, you gotta isolate the numbers. Teach isn't looking for a final answer, just that you can set up the equation so it could be solved."_

_Ava popped one brow. "Are you serious?"_

"_Yep."_

"_Jeez…" She took the book back. "This is so easy for you. I wish I was that smart."_

_Juice was shocked, and could hear it in his own laugh. "Smart? Yeah, better not say that too loud around here."_

_She sat up a little, moving her shoulder against the car's seat back. "I'm serious," and her face said that she was. "You're the smartest person I know. Who else could do math like this? There's common sense, and then there's book smart." She held up a hand and shook it. "Common sense, meh…but book smarts…you're a friggin' genius."_

"Juice," the sound of his name jerked him out of la-la land. He realized he was staring at the ground, breathing loudly, rubbing his head hard enough to scrape his tats off. Opie was standing in front of him, and something about the guy's expression told him that his own face was raw with emotion and memory. "You okay?"

"Fine," he turned around, going to the car, stuffing his emotional baggage wherever it would fit.

"Hey," Ope said behind him. His voice was hesitant. "It's not too late to call off this Rubio thing."

Juice didn't answer.

"It won't make you feel any better. You should go home. Fix your family."

He half-turned, snarling over his shoulder. "I don't have a family."

**-O-**

It was her day off at the diner. Ava left Sam in the office with Maggie and shielded her eyes against the bright afternoon sun with her hand as she walked toward the open garage bays. She didn't know where she was pulling her strength from; because she could hardly catch her breath as she stepped into the shade of the garage, looking for Juice. Her heart thundered behind her breastbone. God, there he was, under the hood of a car, the hard look of concentration on his face almost turning her around. But she kept walking, went right up to him. She knew he had to hear her boot heels, but he didn't lift his head.

"Juice."

He shoved off the car, intentionally jacking his shoulders up as he faced her; not just trying, but succeeding in looking sinister. His face was so hard…he was almost Hap-like in his expression; the darkness of his eyes and the clench in his jaw. He didn't speak.

So she didn't ask. "I need to talk to you a minute."

"I'm busy."

Ava couldn't stop the way her hands clasped together. Her palms were sweaty. "Please. It won't take long, but I've spent twenty-four hours working up the courage for this, so I really need to say it."

He turned his head and he was spookier in profile, the way his eyes looked meaner from the side. He inhaled with obvious aggravation, folded his arms. And it was so hard for her to convince herself that it was an act for her benefit. It was like he was sick just being around her. Juice folded his arms. "Make it fast." He still didn't look at her.

"I'm not sure there's a way to say this quickly."

"Well _try_."

He was so angry, so bitter, so hateful. There was only one word she could think to use. "I love you," she blurted. A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I know I didn't show it well, but I do and -,"

"Are you shitting me?" he interrupted, head snapping around so he could glare at her. "You're gonna stand there and say that?"

Ava was aware of movement in the shadows; the guys edging closer, watching. She lifted her clasped hands, almost like she was praying. She felt her eyes burn. "I deserve the cruelty, I know I do, but please, God…you gave me a year, all I want now is a minute. Please."

He said nothing, so she pressed forward.

"People always say that things 'just happen'. And I used to think that about us; Hap was dead and I was devastated and we 'just happened'." She took a deep breath. "But we didn't. There was something there, and if I go back and look, it was always there. Whatever it is…it was strong enough to last through the years that I was with Hap."

He was staring at her, eyes black wells. Angry. Wounded. "I made a _mistake_," she heard her voice crack. "I made so many mistakes. I can't take back what happened, but I can tell you how sorry I am. And how much I miss you. I love you, Juice, so does Sam." The tears started and she didn't try to stop them. "You're so sweet to my baby boy and I don't know a man of that caliber in existence."

He looked away again, swallowed hard. The shadows crept closer. She could make out Bobby's face.

"I go to sleep and I wake up every morning wishing you were in bed with me. When I think about being happy, about smiling again, I always think about you. God…can you look at me, please?"

He didn't. It was a miracle she could talk at this point. She could feel hiccups threatening, tears flowing strong now. She didn't care who was listening, she couldn't give a fuck about any of that if she wanted him to understand. She knew she sounded desperate. "Juice…baby…you were my _very_ _first kiss_ -,"

"Stop." His eyes were on the garage floor. He brought up both of his hands, palms out, and for a moment it looked like he might hit her.

"I -,"

"Stop! Just stop it, goddamn it!"

Ava was sobbing, clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sounds, shaking all over. He met her eyes and his expression was so twisted she didn't know how to describe it. "No," she managed. "No, because I want you to know that I understood how I hurt you, and I'm hurting too. I was a monster! I know that. I'm bat shit crazy but I'm trying – I'm gonna make this right; you and me, us."

"There is no us!" he roared, leaning down in her face suddenly. Ava refused to back up, reaching for the front of his shirt. He knocked her hands away. "_Us _went away when you told me you wished I were dead!" She closed her eyes against the fresh wave of tears. How could she have said that to him? "You wanted me dead? Far as you're concerned, I _am _dead, selfish little bitch!"

No one had intervened yet and the thought was terrible. Everyone was watching her get hers in broad daylight. "I am, I am," she moaned, shaking her head. "I know how awful I am, please -,"

"I'm leaving," he bit out. "I'm gettin' out of town and I don't know if I'll be back."

Ava gasped.

"So you can keep your love to yourself."

He couldn't be saying that, he just couldn't. But from what she could see of him through her tears, his face had never been more serious. She sucked in her sobs, wiped her eyes with her sleeve, free arm going around her middle. "Please don't say that," she whispered. "You told me you loved me, all those times -,"

The venom in his voice, and in his eyes, would haunt her for days afterward. "I lied."

"I don't believe you."

He shrugged, doing a mean version of his helpless pose. "Whatever." And turned away from her, going back to the car he'd been working on.

Hands reached for her – whose she didn't know – as she went back to the office. She shrugged them away and kept walking, head down, struggling to breathe. Her stomach hurt like she'd been punched. And in her mind, his words echoed again and again.

_I lied, I lied, I lied, I lied…_

**-O-**

Juice stood with his elbows braced on the car's trunk, his face in his hands, his breathing loud as gale force winds inside his head. He hated seeing her cry. Even though her words before had cut to the bone, he didn't feel vindicated in dishing it back to her. He was thirty-eight and he knew better; he was nearly sixteen years older than Ava, knew she was still so young and damaged. She'd poured her heart out, and even if he wasn't sure how lasting those sentiments would be, he didn't feel good about what he'd said. Not at all.

When his face was composed, he pushed off the car and went out through the back of the garage, to the loading ramp, and sat on the concrete ledge, legs dangling over the side. Behind him, he heard the door open, but whoever it was didn't comment, and after a moment, the door shut again.

The sun was searing and bright; he wished he had his shades. He fished a smoke out of his pocket and lit up, staring across the concrete landscape of the back lot. After a moment, he clenched his cigarette between his teeth and reached into the inside pocket of his cut, fingers finding the well-fingered piece of folded paper he'd pulled out repeatedly during the past year.

It was creased all over, folded thousands of times. In pen, in hard-pressed all caps, two sentences stared up at him. And he read them again, out of habit.

_Be good to her. Love her like I never could._

Hap hadn't just left Ava a note; he'd left Juice one too – tucked into an envelope with "Just in case" written on the front. He'd opened it the day he took her home from the cemetery, and sitting on the end of the bed where she'd slept, his head in his hand, he'd traced the letter with his eyes at least a hundred times.

_Be good to her. Love her like I never could._

Carefully, he refolded the note and put it back in his pocket.

**-O-**

"Hey, man," Koz shook Mayday's massive hand, feeling like his own got flattened in the process.

The Nomad nodded and grinned a smile too friendly for his face – he was a gentle giant half the time. A nightmare the other half. Koz was glad to see that he and most of Quinn's Nomad crew had turned up for this Rubio thing. Hap had ridden with them the past few years of his life; they wanted blood too.

It was nearly sunset in Charming, the sky exploding with orange and purple, and the parking lot teemed with bodies. Glen had been unable to come down, so Koz had brought Lazarus with him; and his name wasn't superficial. Squirrelly fucker had cheated death a half a dozen times.

The SAMCRO guys had come out to meet them, crow eaters already lurking. But Koz noticed one in particular was missing. "Where's Juice?" he asked Carter after he'd pulled the kid into a man hug.

He shook his head, face grim. "Out behind the garage. He's been there all afternoon, just _staring_."

Koz frowned. "He gonna puss out on this thing tomorrow?"

"I dunno…I don't think so…" Carter winced. "Ava came by earlier and it got…rough, man."

"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "Worse than high school kids."

**-O-**

"The second anything seems off, I want you guys to split, got it?" Jax said from his position looming over the redwood table. Maps and charts of Rubio's warehouse hideout and the surrounding area were fanned out for everyone to examine. There were nods all around in agreement, save for Juice, who stared at his research and made no comment.

"What kind of security have they got?" Koz asked.

"Cameras," Juice said, head snapping up. His voice was dripping with something dark and bloodthirsty that none of them were accustomed to associating with him. "Two or three night watch guys…nothing we can't handle."

The plans were laid out; two teams – front and rear entrances – and Jax pressed the importance of not "going cowboy". The goal was revenge, but no one else needed to die in the process. Especially not Juice who was in some sort of Hap-like trance. It was spooky.

Jax caught Koz's eye during the proceedings and they shared a nod. When he disbanded the church meet and Juice had shoved up from the table advising everyone that ", Rubio is mine tomorrow," Jax and the Tacoma Sgt at Arms lingered.

"Carter," Koz caught the young biker by the arm and held him in place, letting everyone else file out of the room. Carter's face became slightly panicked as the double doors closed on the three of them. "Relax, kid."

Jax braced his hands on the back of his chair and gave their youngest member a stern look. "I put you with Juice and Koz tomorrow for a reason."

The kid nodded, but his face was clearly confused.

"You're the only one fast enough to keep up with him if Juice loses his head. And from the looks of it, he's gonna come completely unscrewed. You stick to him tomorrow. Like goddamn glue, you understand? He won't be watching his own back. Don't let him out of your sight."

"Okay." Carter looked a little pale. Koz clapped him on the shoulder. "You think I'll have to -,"

"Kill someone? Maybe. But the goal is to keep that idiot alive and in one piece. I'm not gonna tell my cousin that I lost her new man too."

**-O-**

It was well after dark before Ava could drag herself to her mother's. She'd spent the whole of the afternoon in Sam's room, feeding him, rocking him, reading to him, all robotically and desperately as she tried to keep the threatening emotional meltdown at bay. But by that night, there wasn't a scrap of dignity left in her.

She moved Sam to her hip, hefting him into the crook of one arm, and knocked on the door. The lights were still on, the garage door open; Chibs was probably in there working on his bike. Maggie opened the door and her face was sympathetic instantly.

"Oh, baby, I'm so -,"

"Is Dad here?" Ava cut her off. It was all she could do to keep the tremor from her voice.

Maggie recoiled. "Um…yeah. He's out in the garage with….um, working on his bike."

"I need to talk to him. Alone. Please."

The request was so out of character, so odd, Ava would have been laughing as she said it if she wasn't about to cry. But Maggie nodded and hurried her in. "Here," she lifted Sam out of her arms ", let me have Sammy and I'll go get Chibs, okay?"

Ava nodded, sinking down onto the couch.

Maggie lingered a moment, frowning. "You want something to drink? Anything?"

"No. I just need to talk to Dad."

**-O-**

She was silent a long time, hands held one on top of the other, palms up, staring at her lap. Chibs waited, gave her a moment to work out whatever it was she'd come to tell him. But it was so odd, so strange that she'd wanted to talk to him and no one else. And on top of it, her quiet was eerie. He'd seen her many ways, but this sort of quiet, this spacey, disconnect only came on when her depression bottomed out at a frightening low.

Finally, he could take it no longer, and reached to touch a stray lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Ava jerked away from him, head coming up, moving back against the arm of the sofa. Her eyes were as saucer-wide as was possible, her face so pale she seemed sick. She wiped at imaginary tears and fixed him with a searching look that just blasted through all their feuds and bad blood. She wasn't here for him, and for the moment, she was willing to forgive their father/daughter bullshit.

"Juice said he was leaving," she said. "Is he really?"

Chibs wanted to tell her that the poor doofus was so in love with her he couldn't catch his breath, had sat on the loading dock for six hours, staring at nothing and thinking of her. Wanted to tell her that Juice had painstakingly tracked Rubio for a year, had found him, that his "going out of town" was just a day trip to Oakland. But that he was afraid he wouldn't make it out of the revenge alive, and didn't want her to know it. That Juice was in the garage now with Maggie, had come by searching for some sort of closure before he embarked on his quest tomorrow. That this horrible thing that had come between them was just fear and grief, and that they both wanted the exact same thing under all the hurt: each other.

But he couldn't say any of that. So he sighed. "Aye, luv, at least for a little bit."

Ava nodded, glanced away, bit down on her lip hard. "I, um…" she sniffed. "He can't go. He just can't. He -," her voice caught ", he can't leave his town just cause of me." The tears squeezed out a few at a time as she shook her head. "That shouldn't have to happen again."

He knew she was referring to Happy going Nomad years before – running away from the forbidden thing Ava had craved so badly. Chibs blew out a breath. "I'm sorry, baby, but I dunno -,"

"No," she said fiercely. "No, you can do something. You're his VP, you can tell him to stay here, you can vote not to release him. If you never do anything else for me, then do this, Dad. Help me…h-help me figure out how to make him realize that I'm sorry!"

"Ava, he knows you're sorry."

"Then…then why can't he even look at me?" And then she broke apart; sobs tore her open and left her a quivering, exposed bundle of nerves he knew she would never had let him see if she wasn't up against a wall and out of options. "Please, Dad!" she begged, leaning toward him. "Please…I love him so much and I just want to make it up to him…I just…please…"

It broke Chibs' heart. He'd pushed and pushed at Hap, and now here was the one who Ava really needed, and he couldn't get him to stay. He'd been absent, Hap had died, and Juice had loved her too much. Everyone had failed her.

"Come on," his own voice sounded a little broken as he put an arm around her and pulled her to his side.

**-O-**

The door between the house and the garage was open, and sitting beside it on the work bench, bouncing Sam on his knee, Juice could hear her begging. And then sobbing like her whole world was being torn apart. The way she'd cried so many nights over Hap.

Maggie stood leaning against the wall next to him, arms folded and shoulder propped against the wall. Juice tried to ignore her, to stare at Sam's smiling face and pretend Ava wasn't inside the house falling to pieces over him, but it wasn't working.

"My daughter is difficult at times," Maggie said. "I know that. But it's because she's one hundred percent passion."

Juice glanced up at her with a frown.

"Love or hate – Ava does it all the way. She's loyal to a fault. Absolutely fearless when it concerns her family. When she loves someone…she _loves_, there is no middle ground with her."

He nodded because it was true. His year with her had proved that much.

"I know she hurt you," Maggie dropped her voice a notch. "But she _loves _you, and all she's ever wanted was to have a family of her own. She deserves another shot at that." She sighed. "It took her a long, long time to figure out that it was okay to love you, and that she wasn't betraying Hap. I'm not excusing her actions, but I know what spurred them. And it sure as hell wasn't hate."

Maybe some of Ava's Scottish stubbornness had rubbed of on him, or maybe it was because he was still angry at Hap for dying and dumping all this shit on him. But Juice felt his mouth set in a grim line as he gazed down at Sam. The baby was smiling at him, arms waving around. His son. He couldn't help but think of him that way.

"There's just something I gotta do first," he said with a sigh. "For…all of us."

**TBC**

AN: Rubio next time. And then y'all are long overdue for some mushy happiness.


	32. Not Afraid

**AN: WARNING – chapter contains strong graphic content and imagery. **(Nothing you guys can't handle, but thought I'd throw it out there)

**32: Not Afraid**

"It's a pretty morning," Maggie commented, sipping her coffee and glancing over toward the living room where light spilled in through the windows.

"It is." Ava adjusted Sam in her arms, patting him lightly on the back. The baby was heavy and solid to hold; her little man who no one could take away from her. She had been unable to put him in his crib the night before, had held him while she slept, and this morning, he was again serving as her rock. Had made her strong enough to shower, do her hair and makeup, put on a pot of coffee and be ready with mug in hand when Maggie knocked.

Another long, loaded silence passed, Ava gently brushing Sam's wisps of black hair and staring at a spot on the wall. Finally, Maggie leaned across the table so she could pat her daughter's arm. "This isn't the end of all things, sweetie. It'll get better."

"I know," she met her gaze. "I've survived worse."

Maggie's smile was sad. "Yes you have."

**-O-**

Juice took inventory of his arsenal one last time as he did up his jeans. On his bed, his nine and two extra clips were arranged alongside his knife, his wallet, his flak vest, and all eight of his gold rings. The knife went first, sheath sliding onto his belt and hanging down along his thigh. Then the wallet and its chain. His rings. He put the two clips in the cargo side pockets of his Levi's. The gun fit into the back waistband. And then he picked up the bullet proof vest, testing its weight in his hands.

They'd all been wearing them the day Hap had died. Standard precaution. But it hadn't saved Hap; the bullet had found a point of entry in his exposed underarm, got lodged in the vest on the exit side; against his ribs. And the vest hadn't done a damn thing while he'd bled out all over the concrete. Plus it weighed a fucking ton. It would slow him down, get in his way.

Juice put it down, shrugged into his black t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt, and left his room to join the others.

**-O-**

Ava should not have called in sick to work. God knew she needed the money and it was not a healthy thing to stay shut in the house – that had gotten her in trouble after Happy's passing. Getting back into the world where her own problems seemed so mundane to everyone else would be better. But she couldn't bear to be away from Sam. Tomorrow she could, but not today, not when the wounds from Juice's angry eyes and poisonous words were still so raw and wet. Today she needed the magic of Sam to help staunch the bleeding.

She sat cross-legged on the couch with him sitting in the hollow between her knees. Maggie had given her an assortment of hardback books with beautiful illustrations and she flipped through one slowly, pointing out cows and frogs and telling him what chickens said, even though he wasn't old enough to repeat any of it. The maternal process of it all was important to her and she figured it never hurt to start early.

A knock on the back door startled her, but wasn't really a surprise. She was halfway expecting Gemma. "It's open!" she yelled, and Sam started at the noise, arms flinging up. She grinned. "You're alright."

But the boots that thumped across her kitchen floor did not have stiletto heels. She started to rise, knowing it was too late if whoever it was intended her harm, but relaxed when Chibs appeared in the doorway. Relaxed and cringed inwardly. Her tear soaked spiel of the night before came back to her now, and she regretted that of all people, it had been delivered to her father.

Chibs paused, and then rocked on his boots, looking caught between coming closer and retreating. He'd throw himself in front of machine gun fire, but was timid to approach his own daughter and grandson. "Hey."

"Hey."

He raked a hand back through his hair and exhaled loudly. "Whatcha readin' about?"

"Farm animals." She closed the book and set it aside, put her feet on the floor so Sam sat on her knees. "Why are you here, Dad?"

He looked old and tired, as churned up on the outside as she felt on the inside. He went to the tattered recliner on the other side of the coffee table and sank down in it, hands on his thighs. "I wanted to come by and see how you were doin'."

She clenched her teeth against the retort she wanted to hurl.

"How's he?" he nodded toward Sam who had taken to his favorite hobby; sucking on her wrist.

"Fine."

Chibs sighed again. Scratched at his beard. "Look, sweetheart, this is awkward and I know it. But I been thinkin' a lot about what ya said the other day. About me not bein' there."

It was hard to fight her cynicism; she wasn't sure she could. But she felt herself giving him the slightest of nods.

"You're right," he admitted, voice heavy. "I wasn't."

"Dad," she tried to keep her voice level. "Don't take this the wrong way…because I appreciate what you're saying…but today's not the day. It's too late and I'm too raw after…what went on with Juice."

He clasped his hands together, fiddling one thumb with the other. "Well maybe we don't have to talk about you and me."

"Then what?" Ava knew he was reaching, stabbing in the dark toward her and their elusive relationship. And she knew that like always, she had to push back, couldn't seem to keep from testing.

But instead of getting out of the chair like she'd thought, he leaned forward. And then smiled. "Did I ever tell you about Juicy-boy prospecting the club?"

She frowned. "No…"

"Oh, aye, it's a good story. He was right retarded."

**-O-**

Lazarus had lost half of his left ear at one point, and then it had been stitched back on…poorly. It was a nasty explosion of twisted, mangled flesh. And the scar across his throat told a story of a botched murder attempt. He was across from Juice in the back of the van, calm, cool, hands resting on his thighs. Tig drove, Mayday was shotgun, Koz and Opie and Carter and Tux crammed in the back with the weapons. Tux was cracking his gum and the sound echoed in the tin can that was the back of the van. Carter kept fidgeting. No one spoke. The mood was heavy.

Koz rested his head back against the tinted window and ran through countless mental scenarios. There were so many ways for things to go wrong, and for each glitch he had an evasive maneuver, but Juice was the wild card. He was in full-on zombie mode. And he knew that under all the staring and the reclusive state of his mind, he could snap in an instant. Boy had a hair trigger right now, a grenade with the pin pulled, just waiting to go off. Which was why he'd asked to go along with him. Had there been no need for Carter's speed, he would have pawned the kid off on the front door team too. The fewer people Juice had to put at risk, the less blood would be shed.

As rehearsed, Tig circled down the block from the warehouse and they ditched the van in a scrap yard. Chain link fences, junk, scrapped cars, dumpsters, garbage; they didn't have to try to remain covert as they headed for the target location.

The warehouse was old – weathered cinder block with heavy cracks criss-crossing it like veins. The windows didn't begin until the second story, and from there the building stretched up, at least four floors, connected to the surrounding warehouses via fire escapes and haphazard bridges that spanned the roofs. The electrical box would be up there, so there was no way to shut off the cameras. They wore masks.

Tig's whistle was distinct under his disguise and he nodded around to the front side of the building. Mayday, obvious by his size, Opie, Tux, and Lazarus went with him. And then it was just the three of them. Koz could hear Carter's uneven, anticipatory breath.

"Three guys went out to meet the delivery," Koz whispered as he glanced a peek around the corner. "One guy at the door…which is _open_, so if we do this right, that's all we'll have to deal with."

He went first, creeping on the soles of his feet. An awning provided shade and the loading dock was stacked with boxes and crates, the clutter was excellent cover, so they didn't draw the attention of the guys out at the truck, and the guard at the door was looking away. Koz moved slowly, carefully, until he was in striking range. He weighed his options, wondering if a well-placed blow to the back of his balding head would be sufficient to take him out. Not wanting to risk it, he let his hands hover a moment, gauging the amount of force, the speed necessary, and then he clamped one hand over the guard's mouth the same moment his other gloved hand gripped the back of his head and jacked hard to the left. His spine snapped with a little _pop _and Koz let him down slowly to the floor, drawing his gun as he stepped into the warehouse.

Inside was dark and smelled of mold and urine. The first floor ceiling was two stories high, the light from the windows not reaching down to the scattered jungle of barrels, crates, and countless haphazard boxes. Voices, amplified by the concrete walls, echoed down from the catwalk above. They peeled off their masks and stuffed them in back pockets, doubtful of cameras on the interior.

Koz was leading them deeper toward a back corner, to where he figured the stairs were, when someone shouted toward the front of the building. He heard a string of Spanish dialogue, the tone angry, then other voices joined. Tig and his guys must have stumbled into the hornet's nest.

"Come on," he urged, pulling open the door to the stairwell. Carter glanced toward the sounds, obviously wondering if they should abandon their part of the mission and see if their brothers were okay. But Juice was already jogging up to the first landing. "Let's go, kid." He looked reluctant, but the young blonde followed.

Koz could take care of himself all day, but when he was in charge of others – like, say, Ava's Old Man who had a kamikaze death wish – he became anxious. He felt his pulse quicken as he and Carter hustled up the stairs. Juice wasn't ahead of them anymore, and the sound of the door opening on the next landing proved that the idiot had just gone on ahead of them, completely disregarding safety and caution.

"Goddamn it." He shouldered open the bar release on the second story door and stepped out into a concrete hall. Carter was on his heels as they went around the corner and stepped out onto the steel catwalk. And then his pulse came to a dead stop.

Juice had his feet braced apart, gun raised and aimed at three Mexicans, all of whom were equally armed and had their own weapons trained on him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa…easy now." He stepped out on the catwalk, pushing Carter back behind him because the space wasn't wide enough for all three of them. And because he was going to keep at least one of these fools from getting shot. "Let's all just take a sec, not do anything stupid," he kept his tone light.

The dealers were all shifting eyes and heaving chests; obviously startled by the ambush. "That's him," Juice bit out through his teeth. His face was pure insanity. "In the white t-shirt, that's Rubio."

He wasn't very big, skinny even, but tall, hair buzzed close and little ink tongues of tattoos licking out of the throat of his shirt and up his brown neck. He was a nobody; just another asshole with a streak of good luck and a cocky attitude. He didn't look so cocky now, though.

Koz edged closer, adjusting his grip on his piece. "Hey, guys, ya know what?" Three sets of eyes flashed away from crazy-ass Juice and toward him. "My boy here has some personal shit he wants to work out with Rubio…but you two, I've got absolutely no problem with. God's honest truth…you give up Rubio, and we'll get out of your hair." The steel catwalk groaned beneath their weight. "Tick tock, guys. Your choice."

And then everything happened in a flash-bang of movement. Rubio's guys lowered their guns and Rubio took off, down the long side of the catwalk toward the opposite stairwell. Juice was hot on his heels, without a moment's hesitation.

"Carter, go!" Koz shoved the kid forward, following. "Gracias," he muttered to the traitors as he jumped between them and started running.

**-O-**

He had dreamt and suffered nightmares about his face, had lived this moment a thousand times in his head. And now it was here, and he was running as fast as he could, sucking air into his lungs as he bounded up two flights of steps. Everything – all his misery, pain, grief, suffering – all of it was this man's fault. And it was pure, animal rage that fueled him as he chased after that bastard, out of the stairwell, into a long hall of closed wood-grain doors with a thousand curves in it. He glimpsed a flap, like a white flag, as he headed into another corner. He was close.

Juice heard the squeal of door hinges ahead, powered around the bend, pushing off the opposite wall with his hand and charging toward the yawning mouth of daylight at the end of the short hall. Rubio was off and running across the roof, and so was he.

It was impossibly bright; the glitter in the rocks over the paper and pitch and the flat steel surfaces of countless exhaust fans and AC units sent the sunbeams in a crazy ricochet, nearly blinding him. But as he saw the flash of white t-shirt, and the soles of his boots as Rubio sprinted across the top of the warehouse, the sun didn't matter. And the fact that he'd run a damn near half a mile up stairs and through hallways didn't matter. Juice had trained for this, had prepared for this, had poured every ounce of himself into it; and he sprinted too.

Juice pumped his legs as hard as he could, and then reached down deeper, dug up reserves he didn't even know he possessed. And as they moved across the roof, he gained on Rubio.

"Juice!" someone shouted behind him. Carter.

Rubio heard, paused only a moment to check over his shoulder, and then ducked left, slipping behind a stairwell that led up to a higher tier of the warehouse. _Fuck!_

He changed gears again, launching himself in the new direction of travel. Later, he would remember the desperation and panic, the fear that Rubio was about to get away from him. But now, he felt the rush of blood in his veins, the lightening jolt of adrenaline. His lungs and his heart worked in tandem. His arms and legs churned until he wasn't sure which was which anymore. His body was one unit, with one purpose; muscles working with such determined coordination, his fitness pushed to its absolute limit.

_Breathe, run, breathe, run, breathe, run, breathe, run…_

Juice started yelling as the gap closed; the insane fury that had tormented him for months came tearing out of his throat as she caught Rubio and lunged the final distance between them. He'd planned on using his gun, but his hand flashed to the bowie knife on his hip. The flat steel of the blade caught the light in a dazzling flash as he brought it in a clean arc over his head. His left arm came up, elbow out, flat of his forearm a brace, and he tackled Rubio.

But the bastard didn't go down easily. Rubio was already twisting as he landed on his stomach, kicking. Juice's first swipe with the knife whistled through the air, slicing at nothing, and he roared in frustration. He didn't even recognize the animal sounds that came tearing out of his throat.

Rubio cursed him in Spanish. He smelled like sweat and weed and Juice struggled to keep the bigger man beneath him. He took a hard knee to the ribs, but ignored it, rearing back with the knife again. Rubio's hands came up, caught his wrist, pushed back against the fatal blow. Juice felt something white hot along his brow ridge: the knife, biting into his skin.

His arms got rubbed raw on the pitch of the roof. The sun was so bright he could hardly see, sweat poured down into his eyes. Pain ignited again, this time along his ribcage as they grappled for the knife again. Rubio surged under him and Juice had this flash of certainty.

He was outmatched, he had miscalculated with the knife, and this was it. Rubio would kill him, just like he'd killed Hap, and one of the boys would cradle his body back against his knees, but it would be too late. Jax would take him back to the clubhouse in the van and Ava would collapse in the parking lot, begging, screaming. As the end came for him, he thought about the way her pretty brown eyes crinkled up when she smiled, how the wind caught her hair. He thought about Sam's first words, and knew that "daddy" wouldn't be among them because he would have no father. He wondered if Ava would ever smile again. For one brief moment he'd had a family. For just a little while, he'd had an Old Lady who told him she loved him…

It was the sound of her voice as she pleaded with Chibs, the heartbroken sobs, that turned the tide. That punched a shot of adrenaline straight in his heart until he was screaming ", fuck no!" at the top of his lungs over and over. "You go to hell, asshole!"

With something like preternatural strength, Juice wrenched the knife free. He pressed his other arm against Rubio's windpipe, and poured every ounce of strength he possessed into the downward stroke as he plunged the knife into the motherfucker's heart.

There was a soft, wet, sinking sound, a bit of a crunch. The crack of rib bones being pushed apart. And then the metal rang as he pulled the knife out…and thrust it back in again. Rubio's body spasmed, arms and legs jerking under him like they'd all been pulled by puppet strings, and then he went still; his wide, white eyes open in terror. Slack jaw gaping.

Juice sat back, panting, blood, sweat, maybe tears pouring off his face. He rested his hands on his thighs as sharp pains began making themselves known, as adrenaline faded. But he couldn't move. He could only stare at what he'd done.

Sal Rubio was dead.

**-O-**

Koz hurtled around the corner in the direction Carter had gone, gun still out, eyes doing mad sweeps back and forth across the roof. They were sitting fucking ducks up here if there were guys in the neighboring warehouses, or up the fire escape ladder to his left. As he loped out of the turn, he nearly ran into Carter, cursing the little dumbass as he skidded to a halt.

"Where is he?" he demanded.

Carter was pale, hands on his knees, catching his breath. He nodded forward. "There."

_There _was one body kneeling over another. And for a moment Koz feared the worst, but then he the recognized the wallet chain dangling of the kneeler's hip and heaved a sigh that was heavier than normal thanks to his sprint through the warehouse. "Wait here," he told Carter, and approached Juice and the sprawled form beneath him.

"Juice."

The intelligence officer was staring down at Rubio's face – Rubio's contorted, silently screaming, dead face. The man's white t-shirt was soaked crimson. And Juice was holding his bowie knife in one limp hand, the blade glazed to the hilt in silky red blood. "Juice," Koz repeated, kneeling down beside him. He was in rough shape; winded, bleeding where his eyebrow had been sliced open. But it was that blank, unseeing look on his face that gave Koz the shivers. "Hey, Juice, c'mon dude. Let's pack it up."

No response.

"You got him, man. Come on."

Rubio had died terrified and desperate. His mouth was twisted, lips pulled back from his teeth. His eyes wide open and rolled all the way back, looking in the direction his head had been turned. The asshole had known his end was coming and had tried to escape. He was a coward; a pussy of the worst kind who had shot a man in cold blood and didn't think he had to answer for it. And the club's sweet, lovable doofus had chased him down and stabbed him to death.

"Ju -,"

"It's not enough," Juice's voice cracked through the air.

Koz leaned closer, not sure he'd heard properly. "What?"

Juice shook his head, slowly. He pressed his lips together, bloody brow scrunched up, pained. "It's just…it doesn't feel like enough." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "I need…"

"Hey," Koz reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "You're good, alright? You got him." He didn't say what he was really thinking – not that the guy was in any mood to absorb it anyway. Revenge didn't leave you feeling victorious. It left a nasty aftertaste in your mouth, made you sick inside, and it never felt like it accomplished what you wanted it to, it didn't heal the wounds.

But Juice moved forward, lifting the knife, leaning down and putting the blade to Rubio's throat. "I need…need…_proof_." And he started digging the serrated edge into the dead flesh.

_Oh, Jesus…he's gonna behead the guy! _"Juice!" Koz pulled him back. "No, no, no." He realized what was really going on here – where Juice's head _really _was at the moment. "She don't need that…"

But he was nodding emphatically, fat tears mixed with blood rolling down his cheeks. It was disturbing.

"…she wants you home in one piece. I promise you that; don't make this even worse for yourself."

"No!" he choked out. "I need something goddamn it!"

Koz sat back on his heels and glanced at Carter, who looked ready to puke or pass out. He racked his brain, dredging up his Mayan knowledge, and then the grisly answer came to him. He sighed, nodded once. "Open his shirt," he told Juice. "They always put it on their chests…the tat I'm lookin' for…it should be there."

His fingers fumbled, but Juice slit the t-shirt in half with the knife, eyes glued to the ink work he exposed.

"Kid!" Koz snapped to get Carter's attention. "Look away. You keep watch for us."

"But -,"

"For the love of God, turn your fucking head! Call the others, tell them we'll be down in a sec."

**-O-**

"A diaper? No you didn't."

"Well," Chibs laughed. "Not _me_, but it happened, I tell ya that much. Hale found him the next mornin' outside the station, passed out with a sign stapled to his chest."

Ava made a disapproving shocked face as she leaned sideways against the arm of the couch. Sam was sleeping soundly beside her. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the staple gun was Tig's idea."

He chuckled. "Aye. Probably."

She rested her head against her elbow, feeling more relaxed and sleepy than she would have thought possible after this much time with her father. But talking about Juice had been a topic she couldn't refuse – not the deep stuff, or the heartache, but the light little bits about the doofus she hadn't known. None of it crucial or club related, just funny. And sweet.

"Why did you do this?" she asked, voice soft and non-threatening.

His smile faded. "'Cause I wanted to see if I could make one last try with my daughter." One corner of his mouth curled. "And I wanted to see you smile. I know once upon a time Juicy-boy could make you do that." He sighed. "Trust me, luv, if I could get him back for ya, I would."

"Juice…or Happy?"

"Whichever one you want."

Ava pressed a finger to the corner of her eye. "This isn't the gonna be the part where I cry and hug you and all is right with the world, you know."

He shrugged. "Still."

She checked Sam, then unfolded her long, numb legs off the couch, crossing toward the kitchen. "You wanna beer? If you're gonna hang I might as well play hostess."

"That'd be good."

She heard his phone ring as she rooted through the fridge and prayed it was the club reeling him back in. Or at least her mother. Because as much as his effort was positive, she couldn't take much more of it. If Chibs really wanted to work on their relationship, it would have to be done in small sessions. Baby steps. Twenty-two years of rocky wouldn't give way to smooth overnight.

When she returned from the kitchen with his beer and her Coke, he was already off the phone, and his face was grim.

"What?"

"Pack up the boy. We need to go to the clubhouse."

**-O-**

The van was parked over in front of the clubhouse door and Ava had such a horrific flash of déjà vu, she just threw her truck in park in the middle of the driveway. It felt like that day all over again; that unsuspecting sunny afternoon when Jax had called and asked her, with a lump in his throat, to come to the clubhouse. She broke out in a cold sweat all over, shaking as she opened her door. Maggie had come out of the office and was by her side now, patting her on the arm.

"Mom…is he…"

"I don't know anything, baby," she said quietly. "Go on, I'll take care of Sam."

Her pulse was all she could hear – _thump-thump, thump-thump – _loud as thunder in her ears as she climbed out of the cab and met her father across the parking lot. She didn't protest when he put an arm across her shoulders and steered her the rest of the way. It was happening again: she would go inside and Jax would be at the bar with a shot and he'd turn around and put his hand on her shoulder. He'd sigh, shake his head and stare at the ground before he finally met her eyes. He'd swallow hard. _"Ava, I'm so sorry…"_

The shadows inside seemed black in contrast to the brightness outside, and white spots swam around before her eyes could adjust. She was aware of bodies, lots of them, all of them moving out of her way. Chibs' arm fell away and someone else's hand landed on her shoulder.

"Hey, Little Bit," Koz broke through her fog and she glanced up, registering his face. His voice dropped to a whisper. "He looks rough, and he ain't quite himself, but…" he pushed her forward, between Mayday and Tig, and her eyes fell on the only person in the crowd who was sitting.

Juice was on a sofa, elbows resting on his knees. His face was streaked with blood and dirt, but he was alive, and sitting up…and alive!

"Oh, God." She rushed forward, around the empty couch facing him, only to stop, because the look he was shooting her was a little bit frightening and clearly told her to keep her distance.

He nodded toward the opposite sofa and she sat, sinking onto it and trying to keep her composure. Him ",leaving," had obviously been code for something else; something that had left him bloody. She wanted to clean up the nasty looking cut on his eyebrow – it was going to scar regardless – but she didn't like the crimson streaks down his face. Or on his hands, his arms…Jesus, what had he done?

Ava felt dread settle over her. The mood in the room was eerie; all the guys standing around and Juice just sitting there, covered in blood. Her mouth went dry as she watched him reach into the pocket of his sweatshirt and come out with a little cloth bundle. It was red, a little pouch, and he placed it on the coffee table between them, opening it up and spreading it out flat.

In stylized writing, _Los Asesinos de Dios _stared up at her. And below it a crude line. Hash marks beside meaningless groups of letters. DLR. 1N. A tally. Keeping track of something. She skimmed down the list without touching whatever this was, this chart, this graph…it almost looked like…

And then she saw it. In the column of letters, SOA. And beside it, one hash mark. One tally. One Son of Anarchy.

The chart was a tattoo, a Mayan tattoo, inked into a still-dripping, juicy, yellow-around-the edges piece of human skin that had been haphazardly hacked from the body. She could make out bits of red and white connective tissue, the sub dermis, whatever those layers were called. The cloth was a strip of t-shirt, and it wasn't dyed red, but had become so thanks to the still weeping flesh that it had been wrapped around. The tat was a hit counter – like Hap's smiley faces – a record of the lives taken.

Ava didn't know whether to cry, laugh or throw up. She knew, deep in her gut what this was, but she glanced up at Juice anyway. He was staring at her, eyes wide and unblinking, haunted.

"This…" her voice was shaking, hand too as she raised it to her throat. "This was him, wasn't it?"

He nodded.

"Is he -,"

"Yes."

She leapt out of her seat, now crying, and didn't heed any of his dark looks as she went to Juice and flung her arms around him. "Oh…God, you just…" she gave up on whatever she'd been trying to say and buried her face against the neck of his sweatshirt as she hugged him around his waist. He pushed back against her and her hand slid around to his ribs, landing on something wet.

Ava pushed back and looked at her hand. It was red and slick with fresh blood. And then she read his expression for what it was; thinly veiled pain.

**-O-**

Juice had a very shallow stab wound between his two lowest ribs. And little slices all over. He was bruised and raw – Ava could reconstruct the fight just looking at the damage to his body…and it was terrifying. She tried not to ask herself 'what if' as she dabbed carefully at the split in his eyebrow. He was shirtless and sitting on a chair in his dorm room, Chibs cleaning up the stab while everyone else hovered.

"Got anymore of those gauze pads, luv?"

"Yeah," she dug another out of the pack and handed it to her father. He met her eyes for the pass off and his quick smile said a thousand things. _He's gonna be fine, just a shallow nick, don't fret too much._

But Ava knew the majority of the damage here was beneath the skin, the bruises and stabs. It went soul-deep. She'd hurt him, and getting revenge for Hap had rubbed glass shards in his already throbbing wound. She was at once grateful, angry that he'd taken such a risk when she loved him and had begged him to come home, and furious with herself for not just loving him before, when she should have, when he still loved her.

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Ava," Koz said gently, trying to pull her back ", come on, your dad's got this."

"No!" even Juice, nearly comatose, jerked at her outburst. She wiped at her forehead, feeling a wet streak of his blood get left behind. "No, I'm fine."

She sucked in her tears and pressed on, cleaning, applying peroxide, eyes flicking to his face over and over to see if he'd start to come out of his shock a little bit. Finally, Chibs sealed a gauze pad over his suture work with surgical tape and stood up with a satisfied nod.

"Doc woulda done a cleaner job, but that'll do."

Ava watched Juice stand, saw how shaky he was and wanted to grab onto him. Chibs pulled some Vicodin out of his bag and told her something about it, give him two or whatever. The guys were talking in the background, but she tuned them out. She watched her man shuffle into the bathroom and it was like he was magnetized, and Ava had no choice but to follow, his pull so strong in the moment. She was upset, like he was, about a lot of things, but not about him. She'd never been more sure of anything than she was about Jean Carlos Ortiz in the moment. "Leave us," she said quietly. "I'll clean him up."

The shower cut on with a hiss and she glanced at the faces around her in the dorm; all of them skeptical. It was Chibs who finally nodded. "Aye. Watch his sutures, luv. Keep 'em covered and dry."

"Yes, sir," she managed, but was already turning toward the bathroom, hands ghosting over the hem of her shirt. She registered the shuffle of boots and voices, and then the door shut, closing them in together.

Juice was resting back against the counter, hands braced on the edge, head hanging, eyes closed. Her eyes wandered the swells and curves of muscle, the planes of bone, and she winced at the bruises, even though she'd seen them already. Her chest ached at the metaphorical distance between them. And his shallow stab under the gauze was a frightening reminder of what had almost happened that night.

When he didn't move, she crossed the cramped space and leaned in to check the water temperature. It was hot; but perfectly so. She didn't hear from him until she was down to her panties.

"What're you doing?" his voice was hoarse.

_Hoping you'll really look at me. Praying that if I can put nothing but skin between us, you'll come back to life. Trying to show you how much you mean to me. Wanting to take care of you. _"Dad's afraid you might slip in the shower. C'mon."

She wasn't obvious, but watched from the corner of her eye as he stripped his boots, jeans and boxers. It felt so selfish to think it at the moment; but she'd missed having him in her bed too. She wanted him in all ways; like she'd had him back in the very beginning.

He wobbled, too exhausted to function, as he stepped into the shower. Ava followed him in, pulling the curtain behind her, sealing them into the hot, steamy little cubicle.

The sound of the rushing water dulled when it hit their skin. His back was to her and she watched, caught in a moment of inaction, as he ducked his head under the spray. The water ran red and brown down across his shoulders. Dirt. Grease. Blood. Ava waited for him to come up for air, to reach for the bar of Dial on the tile shelf, but he was still, even the motions of his breathing distorted by the falling water so he seemed statue-still.

_Shock, _she heard her mother's voice in her head. She knew that feeling, in many capacities. For a moment, her mind conjured an image of a sun-glazed highway, a van, a fallen bike, the two Irishmen…the time she'd killed, it had been in an emergency. No alternative. And the urge to protect what she loved had outweighed the emotional side effects. This was different. What Juice had done would haunt him. _Shock._

Slowly, so she didn't startle him, she placed her fingertips against his spine. He jerked, but didn't move, and she took that as encouragement, reaching around him to pick up the soap. She lathered her hands until the suds ran in thick, creamy globs down her forearms. And then touched his spine again, this time with her palm. When he didn't protest, hope blossomed inside her, just a little, and she reached upward, running her soap-slick hand across the bundled muscles in his shoulders; cleaning away the residue – mental and physical – of death.

She had both hands on him, running them gingerly down over his ribs, when his hands clamped over hers. Ava gasped as he yanked her forward. He wrapped her arms around his middle, pulling her flush against his back, and then she realized what he was doing.

She hugged him, mindful of the wound along his side, and laid her cheek against the flat of his back. The water cascaded down the back of his neck, poured onto the top of her head until it ran into her eyes, which was a terribly good thing because it masked the fact that she was crying.

Juice's body trembled in her arms, or maybe it was hers. She didn't know. But then he shifted as he turned around to face her. Ava bit her lip, hoping to hide her emotions as she planted her palms over his stomach. But he kicked her chin up with a knuckle. He looked so lost, his face creased with so much pain, his expression only intensifying as he scraped the tendrils of wet hair back alongside her head and then cupped either side of her face.

She wanted to say something, even just his name, but instead was still, breath held, as he leaned down slowly. Her eyes closed the moment his lips landed on hers, tears squeezing from beneath her lids and mingling with the water. The gentleness that he used to stroke her mouth with his was in direct contrast with the violence he'd used earlier that night, and it melted her heart. He pulled her closer and she went, arms sliding up to go around his neck, until their bodies kissed too.

Ava was afraid to think it, but she had to. Here, now, after everything, there was a clean start waiting for them on the other side of the shower curtain. And that thought was almost as breathtaking as finally touching him again. He broke the kiss and she kept her eyes closed, inhaling deeply when she felt his lips on her forehead.

A dozen thoughts ran through her head. She could see herself reaching between them, taking him in her hand. Sinking to her knees in the tub. Could envision him pushing her back up against the tile and burying himself deep inside her, both of them fighting for leverage and purchase. But she lightly traced the contours of his shoulders with the tips of her fingers. And he raked his fingers through her wet hair. It was too perfect, too sweet a moment to ruin.

Before the water could grow cold, she butted his chin with her nose. "We shouldn't get your stitches too wet, baby."

His voice was cracked like sun-dried clay when he spoke. "Yeah." But he didn't move.

Reluctantly, Ava slipped out of his embrace and leaned around to shut the water off. The air was sharp and cold; she could already see goose bumps on his skin beneath the beaded water droplets. Juice still didn't move, was still stuck in his head somewhere, so she pushed back the curtain and pulled towels off the rack for both of them. He at least dried himself off.

And then her heart started to sink like a stone when she realized that her window of time with him had come and gone. He would down the Vicodin Chibs had left and go to bed, and she would go back home and tell Maggie to forget it, that her man wasn't really her man after all.

She wrestled with her tears while she stepped back into her panties, then gathered the rest of her clothes and went out into the bedroom, giving him some space. She piled her stuff on the bed to disentangle it, when his voice caught her attention.

"Are you leaving?" His tone was soft, sad, almost child-like. He was in the doorway, holding himself up against the jamb in just his boxers, looking like death warmed over.

Ava's voice caught in her throat a moment. "I don't have to."

He nodded, eyes going down to the floor, and shuffled to the bed. It was unmade already, and he climbed in on his stomach with a quiet groan, wincing.

She lingered a moment, in her underwear and t-shirt, chewing at her lip, and then said fuck it all. She wanted any little bit of contact she could get tonight. Going around to the other side, she slid in under the sheets, stayed sitting and leaned back against the stacked pillows. The moment she was settled, Juice moved, wrapping his arm around her waist, resting his head in her lap.

Ava bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting into tears. Instead she scooted down to a more comfortable position and folded her arms carefully around him. Brushed a kiss to the top of his mohawk. One hand cradled his head, thumb tracing one of his lightening bolts with careful slowness. She could feel her breath getting choppy as she struggled not to cry, breathing in the smell of clean, soaped skin and that little bit that was just him.

Juice exhaled loudly; he was exhausted, beaten down physically and emotionally, and after only a handful of moments, his breathing evened out, no medication necessary.

Ava thanked God and whoever else would listen that he'd come home alive. She didn't thank the heavens for the death of Hap's killer, or for revenge for Sam…she murmured silent prayers in her head for the man draped over her now. She held him and listened to him sleep for a long time before she finally drifted off herself.

**TBC**


	33. Comin' Home

**33. Comin' Home**

The pain woke him up, bringing him reluctantly to the surface of awareness. Juice hurt everywhere, down to his bones it felt like, and the places where the knife had bit into him throbbed in time to his pulse. He groaned and shifted a little, realized he was on his stomach and was holding onto something for dear life.

Ava. He remembered crawling into her lap and curling an arm around her waist. He tilted his head back, wincing at the motion, and saw her still propped back against the pillows, asleep, her arms around his shoulders. He remembered the shower, and how badly he'd wanted her to not be anywhere else but with him at the moment. He still wanted that, craved it, and despite the screams of protest in each of his muscles, he pulled her slowly down so she was flat on her back beside him. She shifted and inhaled deeply, but stayed asleep.

He put his forehead against her cheek and resolved to stay in bed just a little longer. To enjoy this moment that was suspended in time and history for a just a bit, before the harsh light of day sent them running to their corners again.

**-O-**

Warm sunlight on her face woke Ava. She blinked against the brightness and eased up on her elbows, trying to place the smells and scenery around her. She had a sudden moment of panic about Sam, but then the previous night came crashing back to her and she remembered that she was at the clubhouse, in Juice's dorm. The disgusting tattoo trophy he'd brought her – trying to prove that he was tough enough, and show her that he could get revenge for Happy – and how it had been all she could do to keep from screaming how stupid he was. What if he'd gotten himself killed too? She didn't want the Terminator, not now that she could think rationally again, she wanted Juice.

She sat up and rubbed at her eyes, quickly realizing that she was alone in bed. Her clothes were still heaped up at the end of the comforter. She left them there while she scanned the dorm and bathroom, but her search was fruitless, Juice wasn't there. Ava fumbled into her clothes, a feeling close to panic settling over her.

_No, _she reasoned in her head. _He didn't leave. He just got something to eat, he was thirsty. _Because this morning was going to be good: they would talk, put all their bullshit on the table and see what they could make of it. Last night had meant something. It had, by God.

The long stretch of hall was quiet, and she knew, even before she entered the common room, that she wouldn't find him there either. She held onto a small shred of hope, but it was quickly lost when she swept the area with her eyes and found it empty, save for Bobby, who was drinking coffee at the bar.

He regarded her over his mug a moment, glasses sliding down his nose. "He left, darlin'. 'Bout an hour ago."

Ava slumped against the wall and stood there a long moment, letting it support her weight. He'd left. Again.

**One Week Later**

Dr. Fischer pushed her sunglasses up her nose as she exited St. Thomas one bright afternoon. She was taking mental inventory of her trip to the market, the long walk she planned to take with her Golden Retriever when she got home, and didn't see the man leaning against her Volvo until she nearly collided with him. Toni gasped, stumbled back and tripped over her heels, dropped her briefcase.

He was wearing one of those damn leather biker vests, with that hideous grim reaper all over the back of it, mid fifties probably, shaggy black hair going gray in big streaks. And his face…Jesus Christ, he had deep, old scars in his cheeks that reached up toward his ears from the corners of his mouth. She couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses and didn't really want to. If the biker with the mohawk had been a "gangster punk", then this one was a seasoned road veteran, all gangster, no punk.

He cleared his throat loudly as she was backing away, or maybe he coughed, she wasn't sure, but either way she froze, not able to take another step, even if she should have been sprinting at this point.

"You Doc Fischer?" his voice was deep, guttural, and so heavily accented it took her a moment to process what he said. Had to be Scottish: she was immediately reminded of some of the less-handsome, harder-to-understand extras in _Braveheart_.

She nodded.

"Same Doc Fischer's been seein' my little girl? Ava Telford?"

This was the poor girl's father? Good Lord. "Yes," she felt herself calm marginally. He could still hurt her, but wasn't as likely to after having identified himself. He didn't say anything, glanced away from her, tapping gloved knuckles against the roof of her car. "Can I help you with something?"

"Aye." He folded his arms and leaned up on the door of the Volvo. "Ava needs to come see you."

Toni shrugged. "She missed her last appointment and hasn't called. I'm not in the habit of hunting down patients, Mr. Telford."

He quirked a sideways grin and it deepened his scars. "S'pose that's not what you were doin' after my wife the other day, then?"

"No," she lied, spine stiffening.

"Aye, whatever, Doc. That ain't why I'm here." He shuffled his feet and Toni clutched her decorative scarf, noting the dirty gray one around the biker's neck. The commonality was not comforting to her. "I wanna make sure you'll take my girl back."

She made a face. "I don't ever turn away patients in need of my service, not so long as I think they can benefit from my help."

"Can she then?"

Toni sighed. "Honestly…I don't know for sure. Only if she's willing to cooperate. And if she's willing to make positive changes."

The biker was silent a long moment. She could feel his eyes wandering over her disapprovingly behind his shades. He was further proof that Ava came from a rough family – a clannish one that didn't trust outsiders from any walks of life. It was dark, twisted, and heavily guarded over on Ava's side of the fence. Finally, the Scotsman nodded. "She'll call you." And he shoved off her car and across the parking lot without a backward glance.

**-O-**

"You're late, dude," Ava called over her shoulder as she spooned another mouthful of food into Sam. He mashed it around between his gums before swallowing and opening wide again like a baby bird, beating the tray of his high chair with his hands.

"Yeah, I know," Koz grumbled, rolling his eyes as he heeled her back door shut. "Jesus, you feeding him or just pouring the food all over the floor?"

She didn't know why he was still in town a week after what she was referring to as "the incident", but she wasn't going to argue about it. She had to be at work at three, but when Koz had called and wanted to come by for lunch, she had been unable to refuse the offer. "He's a messy eater these days," she defended, reaching to wipe his chin with his already stained bib. Today's menu item was butternut squash a la Gerber. Thick globs of food he'd dribbled were all down his front, and at first, she'd let him play with the spoon, which was the cause behind the carnage of yellow mush all over the floor at her feet.

"Hey, man," Koz greeted Sammy. He reached over his shoulder to waggle his fingers at the baby. Sam – who'd been laughing and gurgling between bites – sobered and tilted his head back to look at the newcomer. Ava swore his look was a _who the fuck are you? _face.

"Not sure your kid likes me…messy little monster that he is. Damn, are they all like this?"

"Yeah," she snorted. "And don't take it personal, he doesn't take kindly to unfamiliar faces."

"Like his old man," he said with a bit of a sigh, plopping into one of her kitchen chairs. Ava offered Sam another bite, but could watch Koz study her from the corner of her eye. "How you holdin' up, kid?"

"Good," she said too quickly, not caring that it was a lie.

"He been back around since that night?"

"Nope."

He sighed again. "Ava -,"

"I've said everything I can say to Juice." Sam had lost interest, was now smearing his hands through the residue on his tray, so she stood and took his bowl to the sink. "He doesn't want me, and there's nothing I can do about it. Change of subject please."

"Okay then…how's therapy going?"

"Seriously, Koz? This whole camp counselor thing has gone on long enough. I'd like to talk to the shallow, tail-chasing Koz again."

"I am not shallow," he feigned hurt. "I'm a caring, generous - ,"

"Liar is what you are," she finished, wetting a paper towel and going back to wipe Sammy's face. He made an awful frown as she dabbed the squash off his cheeks.

Koz sobered a bit. "Hey, now, your cuteness only gets you so far. Watch it." She sighed and nodded. "How's therapy?"

Ava shrugged. "I quit going. My busybody shrink got too involved."

"I think you should go back."

Her head was starting to hurt. She never would have let him come if she'd thought it was going to turn into an interrogation. "I'm okay now," she defended. "I'm not suicidal, not a goddamn puddle on the floor, I'm honest to God _oh-kay_."

Koz turned sideways in his chair so he could face her while she went back for more paper towels. "Look, don't shoot the messenger, alright? Your old man went by to see your shrink, wanted me to convince you to go back and see her."

"He did what?"

"He's trying, Ava, and he didn't even want me to tell you, so it's pretty damn selfless this time around."

In the past week, Chibs had found more than one occasion to make himself useful. He'd brought her dinner, had tuned up her truck, had offered to watch Sam – she wasn't at that point yet, but the offer had been sweet. He _was _trying, even if it felt like too little too late. Ava shook her head. "I dunno…"

He stood and shrugged out of his cut and jacket, draping both over the back of his chair. "You think about it, I'm gonna go wash up." He frowned and glanced at the empty table. "We are eating, aren't we?"

"Yeah, I just gotta pop your plate in the microwave," she said as she knelt and started in on the globs of floor squash.

"Yum," he said as he walked out ", nuked leftovers."

"Jerk," Ava muttered under her breath, but smiled. She had intended to make him something, but it had gotten late and Sam had to be fed, he ought to be thankful for the reheated teriyaki stir fry from the night before. Done with her quick clean up – she'd take a mop to the sticky residue later – she went to the fridge and dug out one of the plates she'd fixed earlier, leaving her own behind. Ava wasn't feeling so hungry anymore. Was there ever going to come a time in her life when everyone just butted the hell out and let her make her own decisions?

"What're we gonna do, Sammy?" she asked of her son who watched curiously as she moved around the kitchen. As she was punching microwave buttons, she heard the clatter of his plastic, Fisher Price car keys hitting the floor and sighed. He was teething, and was overall busy as hell. When she turned around to retrieve the toy, she noticed a folded piece of what looked like thick craft paper about to fall out of an inside pocket of Koz's cut. He'd drop whatever it was if she didn't tuck it back in for him. She intended to do just that, but a dark swirl of unmistakable crayon on the inside caught her attention. Crayon? She glanced toward the doorway, ensuring he was still in the bathroom, and pulled out the paper, unfolding it.

It was a child's drawing; a man on a crude motorcycle, no background, just the big, clumsy stroke of a kid's oversize crayons on the back of a diner placemat. The man was a study of peach and black, but the yellow hair that looked like flames shooting off his head made the subject obvious: Koz.

She had the placemat spread flat on the table in front of her when he clomped back in from washing his hands. She heard him pause and glanced up, he was frowning at her in slight confusion, maybe even worry. "Wow," Ava grinned. "You're a regular Picasso."

"I didn't draw that," he snorted, sitting opposite her and reaching for the picture.

"Obviously," she gave it one last look and passed it over, chuckling as he folded it back up and stuck it in his cut again. "I wasn't snooping, I swear, it was about to fall out. But now that I've seen it…"

"What?"

"Dare I ask about the artist who managed to capture your hair perfectly?"

He was silent a beat, looking perturbed. "The girl I've been seeing, her kid drew that."

Ava felt her jaw physically go slack. "Her _kid_? Are you for real?"

"Yeah I'm serious," he was grumpy now, forehead creased up as he scowled down at the table. "So what?"

"I just…" did not expect him with a single mother at all. Or, shit, hopefully she was single. It wouldn't have been the first time Koz had gotten himself in trouble with a married chick. "Okay, hold on," she tried to wipe her prejudices, and her expression, blank. "How long have you been seeing this chick? What happened to the 'five-feet-eight-inches of _ho-ly _shit'?"

"She _is _the five-feet-eight-inches of _ho-ly _shit."

"Seriously?"

He nodded.

"And she's a mom?"

"He's five."

Ava took a moment to let the information sink in. Wow. Kozik, the crazy guy she'd called "Uncle" her whole life, had a girlfriend – a miracle in its own right – and said girlfriend had a kid. She was in love with Juice and Koz's girlfriend had a kid. What the hell had happened to the world?

"Does Miss Holy Shit have a name?"

He twitched a grin she wouldn't have noticed had she not known him, and the tiniest glint in his eyes was a secret, tell-tale giveaway that something was very different about Koz when it came to this girl. "Cassie."

"Okay," she grinned and stood up. Retrieved Sam's keys again and Koz's lunch on the same trip "I just wanna know what name to look for when the wedding invitations come out."

"You're a little shit," he said with a smirk.

"I know!" she laughed and the action felt foreign to her. "Which is why I also have to ask how you met her."

Sam threw the keys _again _and Koz feigned interest as the little boy erupted into giggles. "Can't you control your kid?"

"'Bout as well as you control your sex drive," she quipped. She gave up, put the keys on the table and lifted Sam out of his chair and into her lap. He was kicking and squirming, wanted to be let down, but she wanted to hear this, by God. "Back to your story. How did you manage to nab a _single _mom?"

His eyes narrowed and she knew he'd caught her hint. "Yeah she's single. I may fuck married women but I don't invest myself."

"So you're invested."

"Honestly, I don't know what the fuck I am." He shook his head. "I was fine how I was. Plodding along ... I had my club... Relatively unlimited supply of ass... I was happy being me. Then I'm walking out of a hardware store one day and run into a kid on a tyke bike and his mom following behind sippin' coffee and suddenly being _me_ ain't so much fun no more…unless they're involved. What the hell do you call that?" Then grimaced. "Don't answer that, I really don't want to know."

Ava didn't respond, but she knew the answer. Whether Koz did or not, she knew exactly why "being me" wasn't so much fun after all. "What's the kid's name?" she asked after a bit.

"Lucas…Luc." He gave her a sharp look. "Don't say what you're thinkin'."

"I'm not thinking anything," she smiled. "Us single moms need some lovin' too."

His face brightened and he lifted his fork, aiming it at her: she'd inadvertently turned the tide of conversation back to herself. "Nope!" she stood up and put Sam on her hip. "You eat, I'm gonna change this guy, and the only 'juice' I wanna talk about better be in a damn sippy cup."

**-O-**

"Where is he?" Chibs asked Carter as he passed into the clubhouse, but he already knew the answer.

The blonde looked up from the magazine he'd been flipping through at the bar and nodded toward the recliner in front of the TV. "Where he's been for a week."

"Aye." Chibs moved on, crossing the room, feeling more agitated with each step. Juice was, as had become routine, on his ass in front of the tube, beer in his hand and four empties on the table. He had a flash – a vivid window to the idiot's future – and it looked a lot like his own past in the years between Maggie's departure from Charming and her return. Getting fat and lazy, drinking too much, being a miserable asshole who was only the life of the party if he was hopped up on something. Juice would never just get over Ava, she was too ingrained in him now, a part of his bloodstream, and he'd just be a miserable prick while the two of them tried to coexist in the same town. It was stupid and it had to stop.

"Juicy-boy." His head had barely turned before Chibs snatched the beer out of his hand.

"Hey!" he scowled ", I was -,"

"No you ain't. You're gonna get your miserable ass outta that chair, wash the stink of sweetbutt off yourself, and go see my daughter."

Juice's face was clouded over with slightly tipsy anger and he pushed up into a straight backed sitting position. "I'm not doing that."

Chibs smacked him up one side of his partially shaved head.

"Ow!"

"Listen up, shithead," Chibs put a boot on the edge of the chair and leaned down, until he could swear he saw his reflection shining in the whites of the guy's eyes. "I stayed outta the thing between you and her this whole time cause I didn't wanna do what I did before with her and Hap. But now you're makin' me mad. Take her back, tell her you're gone, just tell her _something. _She shouldn't have to wonder." He snorted at the way Juice's face twisted up with pain and anxiety. "Though if you had even a scrap of brain in that tatted head o' yours, you'd take her back, cause there ain't a damn girl in the world who loves like she does."

**-O-**

"Order up!"

Those two words had become Ava's least favorite in all the English language. She hooked her table rag through the ties of her apron and went to the counter for the chicken platters that belonged at table six, only to almost drop them when she turned around and saw Juice standing just inside the diner's door. He had his hands in his pockets and his expression was guarded.

He nodded an acknowledgement. "Can I talk to you?"

"Um…yeah. Of course. I gotta drop these off and I'll meet you at the end booth." Her knees started shaking as he walked down the row of booths. Ava delivered the food, and then caught one of the other girls' attention on her way back. "I'm taking my break now."

Juice was waiting where she'd told him to, facing the door of course, fiddling with a sugar packet. She hadn't seen him since the night he'd brought her a piece of Sal Rubio's skin – Koz had told her the offender's name – and she didn't figure he looked much better now. He needed to shave, had dark circles under his eyes. The slice in his eyebrow had knitted back together but the hair was still gone; it would stay that way, a battle scar.

She still wanted him though. For all that fatigue and stress had worn him down, he was still handsome to her. She still craved his body. And it was with heavy, suffocating trepidation that she slid into the booth across from him.

"Hey."

Juice's eyes flicked up to meet hers. He took a deep breath. "Hey." Slid the sugar packet across the table toward the napkin dispenser. "After last week…I guess we should lay everything out. Get it over with."

And with just those simple words, Ava knew this wasn't going to be the conversation she'd hoped for. She frowned. "Juice, I don't ever think about talking to you as being something I want to 'get it over with'."

He glanced away from her and she saw his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard. "Look, just…I didn't wanna start any shit." But his voice wasn't angry like it had been before at the garage. No malice, no heat. He sounded tired and sad.

"I'm not starting anything," she assured quietly. "I think we should use this chance to -,"

"We can't do this," he interrupted, startling her. His eyes were absolutely haunted when he looked at her again. "We're no good together and there's no sense pretending -,"

"Please don't," she could feel the instant sting of tears. "We haven't had proper conversation one about any of this. Why can't we talk about it?"

"This _is _talking."

"No, this is you bailing when things are hard. That's a play out of Hap's book, and my dad's book. You are such a better man than both of them." His face creased and she knew this wasn't what he wanted. The words he'd spoken were not his own, but what he thought he should say given the fact that he couldn't grab a hold of the storm that still brewed inside himself. He was taking the easy way out even though it broke his heart. Ava reached across the table for his hand and he pulled away. "Please, Juice," she whispered. "We have potential; we can be amazing if we can tear down the bullshit between us."

Juice put his head in his hands and didn't respond.

Ava inhaled on a slow shudder. "You can't even try?"

"No – no, it's a bad idea." His sigh was shaky.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat because as much as it pained her, she knew what she had to ask next. This whole mess wasn't just about her anymore, and she'd be damned if she'd let anyone hurt her little boy. "What do you want to be to Sam then?"

His head came up sharply.

"You want bumped down to uncle status? Or to be just another guy at the clubhouse? It's my job to protect him – even from you."

"Jesus…you know I love Sam," she thought his voice would break. "I'm not saying…shit, I'm not abandoning you guys. I promised I'd look out for you and I will. You aren't gonna hurt for money, I swear."

"You don't have to do that." _You don't have to draw this fucking line between us either. _

"Yeah I do."

"I don't care about some ancient promise you made Hap -,"

"This has jack shit to do with Hap."

And everything to do with just him, and just her – it was all over his face in fifteen languages. He didn't want this either, but she'd driven him to it she supposed, and now she had to live with the consequences. And the loneliness. "If I could do it all over again – I would never have hurt you."

Juice didn't say anything, he just slid out of the booth and Ava stared down at the table, furiously trying to hold back tears. She was startled to feel his arm go around her neck as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. But then he was gone.

**-O-**

Three days and one uncomfortable phone call later, Juice agreed to visit Sam. He pulled up to the house about seven and the sun had already disappeared behind the little ranch, the sky a muted indigo. The lights were on, their warm glow shining out onto the freshly cut lawn. He knew Jax had sent a Prospect to take care of the yard. Just like he knew that inside, Ava would be getting Sam ready for bed, soon to settle in at her laptop and try to write for a little while before she gave up and curled beneath her own covers with a book. He could imagine the smell of the two slices of cheese toast she would have fixed herself for dinner. The sound of Sam's laugh. Coming tonight had been the best, and the worst idea he'd had in a long time.

Ava answered the door at his first knock. She was in faded jeans and a threadbare grey t-shirt that hugged her breasts and tiny waist. Her hair was fast falling out of its ponytail. "Hey," she gave him a tight-lipped smile. "I just got him out of the tub. He's playing in here a little bit before bed."

He nodded. "'Kay." And followed her into the living room, cursing his own stupidity the whole time. How had he thought he'd be able to waltz in and back out? He had thought that he'd be bombarded with memories of the big argument: her coffee mug smashing against the wall, the yelling, shoving her so hard she fell down against the dresser. But it was the good stuff that invaded his mind – the smiles and fleeting, happy moments – and it felt like walking into a dream he knew he'd awake from any moment.

Sam was crawling around like a fiend on the carpet, chasing a soccer ball that he kept shoving away again. He was getting so _big_, so mobile and active. "Hey, dude," Juice crouched down and the baby whipped his head around, laughing. "Can he stand yet?" he asked hesitantly.

"He's walking actually. When he wants to"

Walking? God, he'd missed a lot.

"He's happy you're here," Ava said quietly. And as if to prove her point, Sam crawled toward him.

Yeah, coming home had been a stupid, stupid, really stupid idea.

**-O-**

Ava busied herself straightening up the kitchen to give Juice some time, make it less awkward. But the truth was that awkward was unavoidable. As she stowed plates in the dishwasher and listened to the quiet rumble of whatever Juice was saying in the next room, it felt domestic and natural, and the idea broke her heart because it was a sham and as soon as Sam was asleep, it would all disappear and she'd be alone yet another night.

All she could do was nod and try to smile when Juice came and asked if he could put Sam to bed. She wanted to go kiss her baby good-night, but knew that would put her and Juice and their mutual feelings about Sam too close together. So she took a dust rag into the living room and cleaned imaginary specks off the spotless furniture while she waited for him to leave.

Ava was straightening the magazines on the coffee table when Juice reappeared. She didn't let her eyes linger on him, moved them quickly away, but it was long enough for the ache of longing to stir inside her. He had been working out even more than before – part of his revenge crusade – his biceps stretched the short sleeves of his t-shirt. His abs were so bulked up they bowed out rather than in like the concave depression of trim little model types. He had more stubble along his jaw. There was a heavy, deep darkness about his eyes. She wanted him so badly – wanted those arms braced on the mattress, his hard stomach pressed to hers, wanted those dark, dark eyes staring down at her as he took her so deep and so hard that she shattered into a million pieces.

But instead she tidied the magazines and hid the devastation on her face. "It's good that you came by," she said. "I know he was glad to see you."

"He's getting bigger," he said. His voice was thick; like first thing in the morning when he was halfway through his first cigarette of the day. "Growing like crazy."

Ava nodded. "Yeah."

"How've you been?"

The question surprised her and she hoped it didn't show, bending low over the coffee table. "Good," she lied. "My manuscript is about ready to send out, so fingers crossed…" she sighed, tired of the game, and stood to face him. "Actually, I suck. I hate this. But I'm here and I'm alive and Sam's doing well. So I'm okay. But I'm not great."

Juice's face hardened. He wasn't scowling, but it was that intimidating look of his that once upon a time was rare, but now was constant.

"Sorry," she turned to head toward the kitchen. "I'm not trying to guilt you into anything. I just want to be -," her words got cut off by the loud thump of feet on carpet and before she had a chance to turn, his hands were on her and he was tackling her down to the living room floor. He was careful, he caught her, and Ava didn't protest, laying down at his urging, up on her knees, chest to the carpet.

His body arched over hers; heavy, strong, warm. Ava turned her head, her cheek on the rug, and felt his breath on the back of her neck, sawing in and out of his lungs like that of a starved animal. His hands were at the button of her jeans, his hips moved against her ass and she nearly squealed.

"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes. Please…oh I missed you so much, baby."

He didn't speak, just huffed out breaths that were nearly growls. He tugged her jeans and panties down around her thighs and then his own belt jangled as he tore at it. Ava arched her back a little more, offering herself to him, shaking with want. Tears pooled in her eyes, but they were tears of relief, and desperation. However he wanted her, that's how she'd be. Whatever he wanted to do to her, she would never refuse him.

And then suddenly Juice was still. His face dropped into her hair and she could hear his breathing for what it was…he was crying. Or at least trying very hard not to. One of his arms banded around her middle, pulling her to him, and he braced the other on the carpet.

He nuzzled her neck. "Jesus." A sharp inhale and then his voice lost the watery sound. Still strained and broken, but not holding the promise of tears. "Oh God, baby, I missed you."

"Juice," she fought her own tears. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean - ,"

"Shh." She wanted him in her, wanted him to love her, but he was lifting off of her…only she went too. He stood, and picked her up, cradled her against his chest in his arms and took her to the bedroom.

Ava bounced on the bed when he literally threw her down. But it wasn't a sign of coldness; quite the opposite. No sooner had she settled again than he was over her, knees braced on the mattress either side of her hips. She lifted her shoulders, reaching for the hem of his shirt, but he was ahead of her, shrugging out of his cut, tearing his t-shirt off over his head and flinging it to the side. He reared above her; tan and rippling with muscle, tendons straining beneath his dark skin, breathing hard, staring at her with such hunger…and a spark of tenderness too. He was magnificent.

Ava choked on the compliments she wanted to bestow, so instead traced her hands up the hard planes over his ribs as he leaned down over her, shoulders bunching together. "I love you," she managed to whisper before his mouth fell on hers.

She thought she might combust just kissing him. His tongue was in her mouth, pushing back against hers. His lips pushed hers apart. She couldn't catch her breath and didn't care, instead raked her nails up and down the strong span of his back. Any reservations about the acuteness of her feelings was decimated. She loved him, ached for him, whimpered in delight against the invasion of his mouth.

His hand brushed her throat, then slipped into the neck of her plain gray t-shirt. He ripped, leaned back a bit and used both hands, and the flimsy, stretchy material tore in half. She lifted her spine, offering her chest for his touch, but he pulled back, breaking the kiss.

"Shit," he growled, shaking his head. "I was gonna…but I can't wait."

"Then don't." She ground her hips upward, seeking contact.

Juice moved down her body, tugged her jeans the rest of the way off and then finished getting his own jeans undone. She spread her legs wide for him, ready when he settled between them. Later she would put her mouth to him, deep throat him like a porn star, but for now the insides of her thighs brushed the rough denim that still covered his hips. His cock pressed for entrance and even in his haste, he gave her time, worked himself in slow, let her stretch to accommodate. Ava sunk her nails into the bundled muscles of his shoulders, gasped and locked onto his feral eyes with her own when he finally slipped inside.

It had been so long – over three months – and he seemed thicker to her. Stronger as his hips flexed and his hands made hollows in the mattress on either side of her head. His face more tense than she'd ever seen it; veins popping in his thick neck. And she realized why when he dipped his head and bit the side of her throat. He was marking his territory; staking his claim. This was for him; his physical wrestling of emotion, pain, and all the grief she'd caused him. The sweet man who had made love to her was being crowded out by the killer who had chased a Mayan down across warehouse rooftops. She would have him as both.

Her head kicked back and she tightened her legs around him, clutching his shoulders and riding out each pounding thrust. She didn't cum – not this time – but he did, quickly. She felt his body shudder above her. He sunk his teeth deep and she wondered if he drew blood, but didn't care if he did. Wanted him to in fact.

Juice was still a moment and she could feel that he was still hard, buried deep inside her. He kissed the tender mark he'd put on her neck and moved to rub his rough cheek against hers. She felt his muscles twitch beneath her fingers the same moment he spoke.

"This is gonna take awhile," he whispered.

**-O-**

Juice had always been one for working through his issues verbally. Maybe a drink and a forlorn stare at a wall, _8 Mile _soundtrack blasting in his earbuds. But with the exception of hitting the Everlast bag on occasion, he didn't work out his shit in a physical way. That had always been Hap's game. But now, thanks to what she'd done to him, it was Juice's way too. At least in this moment, at this time, and Ava didn't care so long as he kept touching her.

He pulled out long enough to roll her over and she could already feel the strain in her muscles, knew she'd be sore all over tomorrow. He hadn't hurt her, hadn't forced her, but she was glad to see the softening in his face. To know that he was coming down off the angry adrenaline trip he'd been on. She slid her arms around his neck, welcoming him when he entered her again.

They were sweaty, skin sliding everywhere they touched. It was wet and messy; she could hear it. He was going slow, grinding against her, pushing her down into the mattress with each thrust. She clung at his back but her fingers slipped, his skin too slick for purchase. It was too much and not enough at the same time; like trying to compress a year and three months' worth of apologies into one act. It was as desperate as their first night, but this time the grief was for the time they'd lost with each other. No ghosts in the bedroom, only them.

She whimpered as she clung to him and felt his pace stall, one arm sliding under the curve of her back so he could bring her closer to his chest. Ava felt his face at her throat, could hear the slight hitch to his breath. He was still a long moment, giving them a moment to be intertwined, connected. When his hips rocked again he barely moved and it was the sweetest thing she had never imagined existed before he'd come into her life.

Ava couldn't help it. The tears formed and ran, her breath catching a moment. Juice kissed her jaw, up her cheek, the corner of her mouth. She rolled her head to him and knew he saw that she was crying.

Again, his thrusts stopped. He frowned.

"I'm okay," she smiled. Because she was. For the first time since that horrible, haunting day at the cemetery, she was better than okay. She was good. She was finding her new normal. "I missed you so much."

He rested his forehead against hers. Breathing hard, lips inches apart, she could swear she felt him struggling, pushing against what still separated them…but then he kissed her and she knew. With a loud exhale and a slow flex of his hips, he was back – the real Juice. He groaned against her lips before he pulled away again.

"I can't do this," he said, voice rough ", if you're always gonna hate me. I can't be angry like that. I -,"

"I know," she put her hands on his face, feeling her tears continue to trickle from the corners of her eyes. "I know, sweetie. I don't hate you. I _love _you. I was confused for a long time…but now I'm not. I want you here. With me. With Sam."

When he kissed her again, it was the languid, sweet kiss from her teenage years. When her heart had fluttered in her chest and her fingers had played with the edge of his cut, hungry for more and scared at the same time. She thought she would melt when his hips started thrusting in the same rhythm.

In the dark twilight of her desk lamp, on soaked sheets, he didn't fuck her, but made love to her. And Ava had no idea why it had taken her so long to realize that she was exactly where she'd always wanted to be.

**TBC**


	34. Brand New Start

**AN: **First off, thank you to those of you who stuck around up to this point. You made my fic suicide worth it!

Secondly, there is a plan. And if all goes according to said plan, there will be two new stories to follow this. One will center around Koz and Cassie; highlighting how they met and how she will play into the SOA world. And the second you'll just have to wait and see ;)

So, show of hands, who is interested in the little Uncle Koz spinoff?

…

**34. Brand New Start**

Ava started awake the next morning with fresh sunlight pouring through the blinds she had been too distracted to close the night before. The messy sheets around her smelled like sex and Juice's cologne, but they were empty. She was alone in bed and she bolted upright, clutching the covers over her naked chest as her heart rate spiked. "Juice?"

She was thoroughly devastated a moment, but then he came back into the bedroom, in his boxers and carrying Sam. Ava was a little shocked to see that he was still here, even more so that he had the baby up and happily perched on his hip this early, but mostly, she was just elated.

She smiled, tentatively, sitting up on her knees and watching his face for the slightest hint that he regretted last night. But he sat down on the edge of the bed and smiled at her, carefully, but still…it was a smile.

**-O-**

After she fed Sam his bottle, Ava made Juice a king's breakfast. Buttermilk pancakes with a healthy sprinkling of Tollhouse chocolate chips, link sausage with the ends burned – just the way he liked it – orange wedges, hash browns that, though reheated, were homemade and not the frozen crap. He ate on the long arm of the couch, using the coffee table to balance his plate, watching her on the short arm as she bounced Sam on her knee and nursed a tall glass of orange juice.

He found it remarkable that the brooding, miserable girl of a few months ago was gone. And though she spoke to the kid, it was him she watched across the table, her smile small and soft, completely genuine. She looked the happiest chick on the whole damn planet. He had secretly wondered if he'd still be holding onto clinging scraps of resentment this morning, but sitting where he was now, the recipient of her pure adoration, that wonder was gone. She was giving him the Hap look; the one that couldn't contain her love and affection. It was the first time he'd ever been on the receiving end of said look, and it was a little mind-blowing in its honesty and intensity.

"I called Jax," she finally broke the silence. "I told him it was my fault you were gonna be late, that you'd be in after you finished breakfast."

Juice shook his head. "I'm not going in today."

"No?" her smile widened.

"Nope." He dropped the last scrap of orange rind on his plate and then set it in the middle of the table, leaning back against the couch cushions unable to keep from returning her smile. "Come here."

She looked a little nervous, maybe excited as she put Sam on the floor. The boy was off to the races, already crawling toward the stack of toys at the end of the couch as Ava stood and came toward him. She was in running shorts and a camisole, no bra he couldn't help but notice. And when she folded up her legs and started to sit down beside him, he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her into his lap instead.

"Oh!" she was startled by the move, but slid both her arms around his neck, grinning. "Hi."

"Hi." He pressed an open-mouth kiss to her collar bone and then lower. He'd forgotten how satiny soft her skin was, but not how much she loved attention. He felt one of her hands at the back of his head, could hear her breath catch a moment. He moved lower, felt goose bumps under his lips, and reached to pull down one strap of her camisole.

"Juice…wait," she breathed, and he pulled away, tilted his head back so he could see her face. She was smiling still, but it was a little unsteady, and her eyes looked wet. "This is what got us in trouble the last time. I don't wanna make those same mistakes again."

**-O-**

She closed her eyes and touched her forehead to his, arms tight around his neck, soaking him in a moment while she regained her composure. This time couldn't be like last time, when her grief and his sympathy had pulled them together physically, but not emotionally. If she wanted it to last, she had to do things by the book.

After a silent stretch of listening to him breathe and feeling how solid his arms were around her, Ava pulled back and found another smile. Lifted a hand and laid it against his cheek, thumb brushing across his morning stubble. He was his old self, not angry or anxious or pained, his expression soft, and she felt her heart swell. "I love you. I love you so much."

He twitched a half smile and his arm tightened around her middle. "I know. I love you too."

"I don't know how you even can after everything I said and did, after I was so cold." Ava shook her head and sighed, skimming her index finger down his nose. "You were better to me…you loved me better than any man who's ever been in my life."

"Babe, you don't have to -,"

"Yes I do." She was emphatic. "I don't ever want you to have to worry. I'm not so stupid that I think we won't fight, so you need to know how I feel."

He swallowed hard, put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her down again until their cheeks touched.

Ava could feel herself choking up and pushed on anyway, voice wavering. "I won't ever _not _miss him…but now, I don't _need _him. I don't want or need just any man in my life. It's not about filling a void. I want you, Juice. I only want you. You're so good to Sam when you don't even have to be…you're so good to me…treat me like a woman and not a child." She sucked in a deep breath. "It scares me a little to feel this way, and it's never been like that…and that's how I know it's real."

Juice's hands came up to cradle either side of her head and he pushed her back gently, fingers raking through her hair. "I missed you," he said. "When I left, before when you were…distant. We both went crazy…but I didn't ever fall out of love with you. Arguments…that ain't shit. Not compared to the good stuff."

She nodded.

"I wanna come home," he said quietly. " I wanna be with my Old Lady and my kid."

Ava kissed him hard, her hands over his wrists, and it was only the sound of Sam's laughter that kept things from progressing. She sighed when their lips came apart. "I can call Neeta or my mom, Grammie might be able to take him for the afternoon."

Juice grinned. "Nah, he should stay."

She dropped another peck on his lips, smiling gratefully, and turned sideways on his lap so she could watch Sam while head rested against Juice's chest. So she could enjoy both her boys. For the moment, her life felt absolutely perfect.

**-O-**

"Damn, he really can walk," Juice commented from where he was laying propped up on one arm on the living room floor. It was really more of an unsteady teeter, but Sam was on his feet and leaning against the couch where Ava sat, playing with her socks.

"You didn't believe me?" she asked with a little smirk.

"I did," he assured. "It just didn't seem possible." That he'd been gone so long and had missed so much. Even if they were at a healthier place than they had ever been, and moving forward, he was confident he and Ava could make things work, Juice regretted every second he'd been away. Sam had learned to walk and Ava had learned to be herself, and not just the girl who loved Happy too much.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about Hap today, maybe ever. "Come here, Sammy." Sam turned at the sound of his name and Juice grinned. "Come here. Let's see the walking, little man."

"I'm a little worried he's behind," Ava confessed, biting at a fingernail. "Mom said I was walking well by nine months, and he's eleven."

"I'm sure he's fine."

It took a little more encouragement, but Sam finally embarked upon the perilous journey from the couch to Juice's spot on the floor. Juice cringed at every step, afraid he'd fall. Nothing about the way he walked was graceful or steady. Shit, the coffee table was close, what if he hit his head on it? What if he broke something? Shit! This had been a bad idea.

"Hold on," Ava said as he sat up. "He can do it." She chuckled. "He won't break."

And he didn't. Sam finally stepped into his waiting hands and Juice snatched him up, rolling over on his back and hoisting him up in the air. He'd loved it three months ago, and apparently still did, laughing. Juice was pretty sure the sudden wet drop on his face was Sammy drool – and didn't care. "Get him a cape, Mama. This one can fly…" he trailed off when he rolled his head to the side and saw Ava with a hand held loosely around her throat, eyes brimming with tears. "What?"

"Nothing." She smiled and shook her head.

**-O-**

For as cute as he was, and as much as he was her whole world, Ava had never wanted Sam to settle in for a long nap like she did now. She and Juice watched TV for awhile, her head in his lap while she played with the inseam of his jeans, but she had an abundance of sexual energy running through her veins. And judging by the way his hand would slide under her shirt and up between her breasts, she had guessed the same was true for him.

But Sam, the little bugger, refused to get sleepy.

Ava didn't have to have porn quality sex, she just wanted to be with Juice, feel him in her and confirm their reconciliation. But she didn't want to have to worry about Sam busting his head or swallowing something while she was in the throes. So she finally went to take a shower, dressed in good lingerie and an oversized tank top afterward just in case.

She had just finished drying her hair when she heard soft, socked footfalls over the carpet in the bedroom.

"Ava!" Juice whispered and she saw him step into the bathroom by way of the mirror and spun around. "I got him to go down."

"You did?"

"Yeah." He charged her; picked her up and set her on the counter, his mouth falling on hers the second her ass hit the marble. Gentle had been well and good out in the living room with the baby, cuddling and waiting. But now gentle was out the window and she fucking loved it.

Making out with him was a sport all on its own, but his hands pulling her shirt up and off left her feeling feverish. Ava forced their lips apart with a loud pop, lifting her arms so her could whip her top the rest of the way off and toss it somewhere over his shoulder.

"Goddamn, I love leopard," he murmured, running his hands appreciatively over the cups of her black lace and animal print bra.

"I know," she grabbed double handfuls of his shirt and wrapped her legs around his waist ", came with claws and everything."

His resulting grin was pure filth; the kinky, freaky Juice she hadn't seen in a long, long time. "I was gonna do you right here -,"

"Nuh-uh," she shook her head. "Take me to the bed, cowboy."

"Yes, ma'am."

**-O-**

Juice was reminded of a line from one of their favorite fucking songs as he watched her hips buck slowly one last time. _Ride like you in a rodeo. _Hell yes she had; the image of her straddling his hips was blurry, fireworks still going off behind his eyelids, and judging by the look on her face, the same was true for Ava.

She made a low, satisfied sound in the back of her throat and leaned forward, nails scraping up his stomach and chest. The thrill of a sweetbutt or a club girl was in the unknown – the bitch was nothing to him, and it was only about the deed, anonymity pushing him to go raunchier and meaner than he'd thought. But being with Ava was exquisite in a way he hadn't known possible. To know her, love her, trust her the way he did, and then open the gates to the same dark eroticism…it was better than any drug. To lock eyes with her when she was on top of him and know that it wasn't about a fantasy, that for her, it was about _him_, was the best aphrodisiac.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, dark hair clinging to her damp shoulders as she leaned low over him. He groaned when she lifted her hips and he felt his cock leave the warm haven of her body, but welcomed her kiss, penetrated her any way he could with his tongue through her lips. He loved that she still wore cherry chapstick under her lip gloss, that he could taste a little of it now. Loved the tight buds of her nipples against his chest. It never felt like enough with her, he always wanted more.

Juice banded an arm around her waist and rolled over, pinning her beneath him on top of the still unmade bed. Her hair looked black against sheets the same color as the tips of her teeth he could see between her parted lips. She was still breathing hard, eyes still murky with pleasure. He'd asked himself – before Ava – how men could tie themselves to one woman for the rest of their lives. How the trouble and heartache could be worth it. But staring down at her face, feeling her hand come up to stroke his cheek, all the drama and heartache melted away. And he guessed that was what it came down to: even though she'd been the one to break him apart, it was her love knitting him back together. Forever? No contest.

He kissed her, softly this time, until she murmured something he couldn't make out against his lips. And then started a trail down her throat, across her collar bone. Her abs jumped under the stroke of his tongue. And by the time he slid off the bed and knelt between her legs, her whole body was trembling.

**-O-**

They spent the whole rest of the day entertaining Sam and lounging around the living room. Ava made spaghetti for dinner and shocked Juice with her newfound cooking abilities. Ava had watched from the doorway, smiling, while Juice put Sam to bed, and then they showered together and climbed into their own bed naked, finding quiet solace in the dark night and each others' arms.

On her side, facing the bathroom, Ava hovered near sleep, though her eyes were still open. Juice was behind her, pressed close, the tips of his fingers making lazy circles on her hip. It was her left hip, and even without being able to see, she knew he was touching the two smiley faces inked into her skin there. The pattern of his breathing in her ear told her he wanted to say something, but it was a long time before he finally spoke.

"When you…" he squeezed her hip "…afterward…did it stay with you?"

"Not in the moment, no." Her voice seemed too loud in the quiet night. "I was worried about other things. But every once in awhile I remember…and I feel sick inside."

His hand slid around, palm and open fingers spanning her lower belly.

"Even when people deserve to die, you aren't glad that you've killed a person. Justice isn't peace of mind."

Juice exhaled loudly and it ruffled her hair. "I wanted Rubio's head on a fuckin' pike…but now…it just…I dunno."

Ava knew what he was trying to tell her. And now she felt like she could say what she hadn't been able to when he'd been covered in blood and presenting a hunk of human skin to her. She closed her hand over his and urged it up gently, until his arm was tucked under hers. He caught the hint; hugged her back tight against his chest. "Baby," she stroked his knuckles and the skeletal heads of his rings ", as much as I appreciate what you did, God, I was so terrified. When Dad said to go to the clubhouse, I was just sure that -,"

He gave her a squeeze.

"I don't need a superhero. Or a killer. What you give me is more important than that." She threaded her fingers through his and kissed the back of his hand. "I wish it hadn't taken me so long to understand."

It was silent a beat, and then she heard Juice take a deep breath. "I'm sorry," his voice was barely above a whisper. "When I pushed you…when I told you I didn't love you…I didn't mean any of it."

"I know."

"It wasn't right."

"But I drove you to it -,"

"Doesn't matter if you did or not," he cut her off. Sighed. "Quit blaming yourself. It was a terrible, horrible situation we were in; we hurt each other and we're both to blame."

She nodded even though he probably couldn't see her – he could at least feel her hair against his face at the motion, he was that close. He moved his fingers against hers, comforting. A cloud must have passed over the moon because an even deeper, darker shadow fell over the room like a quilt.

"Clean slate?" Ava asked after a while.

His arm tightened until it was almost hard to breathe and his lips were warm against her shoulder. He inhaled deeply. "Only if you promise me something."

"What?"

"When you start going to that dark place in your head, when you get sad about him…talk to me about it?"

She hadn't thought there were any triggers left inside her to pull that would induce tears. But they sprang to life behind her eyes instantly. Ava bit her bottom lip hard, but they escaped anyway, sliding down her cheek and landing on their tangled hands. She knew he could feel it because he hooked his ankle over hers. Of all his sweet gestures, asking her to talk about her dead lover when she was sad may have been the sweetest. "Okay," she said shakily. "I promise."

**-O-**

Juice's bike parked in front of Ava's house for one night could mean anything. Juice's bike parked in front of Ava's house for _two _nights meant _something. _And on her way into work the second morning, Maggie decided it was time someone found out if there was a call for confetti…or a body bag. She slammed the door of her Caddy loudly, hoping that it could be heard inside that she wasn't about to walk in on any compromising situations. Likewise, she knocked on the back door before she tested the knob, found it open, and let herself in.

Ava was at the table, feeding Sam. She was dressed in leggings and a man's t-shirt, hair a loose, knotted mess down her back – she obviously hadn't showered yet. Sam was eating something orange that dribbled down his chin, his mother cooing encouragement to him as he took another bite.

"Hey, Mom!" Ava said brightly, half turning in her chair. And Maggie froze in her tracks. Despite the bags under her eyes and the tired way her smile didn't want to be quite crisp and fresh, the dirty hair and no makeup, glob of baby food on her shirt, the girl had never, not at any point in all of Maggie's memories, looked happier.

"Hey, baby," she finally shook herself loose and came into the room. "You good?"

Ava nodded and her smile became a little shy. "Yeah. I'm fantastic."

"Where's Juice?"

Her smile didn't falter a second. "In the shower. He's going into work today."

Maggie nodded and glanced around the room, searching for broken crockery or any sign of a fight. She saw clean dishes drying on the rack. The counters were clean – the whole room clean really, save for the mess Sam was making now. "Um…I almost hate to ask, but - ,"

"Yes, Mom," Ava said before she could finish the question. She reached with Gerber-covered fingers to tuck her hair behind an ear. "We worked things out." Then she chuckled. "With words and everything. Like grownups."

"For sure? You're getting back together?"

"He's bringing his stuff home from the clubhouse this afternoon."

Maggie heard movement in the hall and withheld any further questions. Ava's head whipped around as Juice entered, still in the clothes Maggie had seen him in a few days ago, shrugging into his cut. He looked surprised, but nodded an acknowledgement. "Hey, Mags," and then leaned down and put a hand on Ava's shoulder. Their kiss was long and familiar and sweet, Juice going back in for one more peck after he'd pulled away. "I'll call you a little later, 'kay?" Then he patted Sam on the head.

"Okay…hey, I made you lunch. It's on the counter." And sure enough there was a brown paper sack next to the toaster.

Maggie was silent, watching while they made goo-goo eyes at one another before he finally left, lunch tucked under his arm like a fifth grader on his way to school. Only when she heard his bike start up did she finally let her jaw go slack like she'd wanted it to. "Wow."

Sam had lost interest in eating so Ava had set the bowl and spoon on the table, was now hugging her bare legs to her chest and smiling so much Maggie thought her face might crack in two. "I know."

"I'll be honest, sweetheart, I wasn't sure he was ever gonna come to his senses."

"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," Ava rolled her eyes.

"But obviously he's smarter than I thought." Maggie nodded. She felt oddly useless – she hadn't been able to influence the situation at all and didn't quite know what to do with herself. "So, you gonna go with Macy's or Crate & Barrel?"

"Ha!"

**TBC**


	35. Just Dropped In

**Disclaimer: **Yes, I know Koz's neck tat reads "Jenn", but that just didn't fit with the past he has in this line of stories.

…

**35. Just Dropped In**

"What's on the menu today?" Bobby asked as they settled on the picnic tables for lunch one afternoon.

As Juice unfolded the top of his paper bag, he noticed everyone was watching him and made a face. His brothers thought it was hysterical that Ava made him lunch every day to take to work. Today, it was a turkey sandwich so thick it wouldn't fit in a Ziploc bag, she'd had to use Saran wrap. Lettuce, tomato, mustard, avocado slices, a drizzle of vinegar on the toasted pretzel roll – it was a damn good looking sandwich and he didn't miss the burgers Maggie had picked up for the other guys.

"Turkey," he informed ", and cupcakes." There was a pack of the Hostess chocolate ones with the trademark white frosting swirl at the bottom of the bag, right above the napkin she'd doodled smiley faces and a heart on. He'd keep that part to himself.

"She couldn't find your Ninja Turtles lunchbox to put it in?" Tig asked with a smirk. "Jesus, man, this is just pathetic."

"When was the last time someone cooked _you _a meal," Jax quipped, saving Juice from a response. "And my mom don't count."

Laughter rippled around the table. "Enjoy it while you can, Juicy-boy," Chibs said. "Cause all that goes away and they just end up -,"

"Chibs!" Maggie called from all the way over at the office. She was hanging out of the doorway, a hand on the jamb, and her voice carried loudly across the parking lot.

"Yelling at you," the VP finished with a sigh. He gave Juice a mock stern look as he stood. "While you can, lad," he reiterated.

Juice rolled his eyes. "I'll be sure to do that." Really, he _had_ been enjoying it. Ava had turned into Donna Reid with the baby and the house keeping, the decent cooking, and all while juggling her own work schedule. Saying things were fixed would have been a lie. There were still wounds, soft and tender to the touch, but they were trying to soothe them now, healing instead of just avoiding. And to her credit, he could see the change in Ava. Holy hell could he ever.

"Are you gonna eat both cupcakes?" Tux asked next to him.

"What do you think?"

He sighed. "Just checking."

**-O-**

Maggie was sitting behind her desk in the office, an odd smile on her face when Chibs walked in. "What's so important you had to interrupt me while I was eatin'?"

"Something needs to interrupt your eating," she quipped, then shook her head. "Sorry, baby, I kid. But," she peeled a Post-it off the desk and handed it to him. "Dr. Fischer called, wanted to remind 'Mr. Telford' that he was supposed to initiate an outing with his daughter."

He glanced down at the note that read _Lunch with Ava. Sunday. 1:30. _

"You'll pick her up and go, just the two of you, out to eat somewhere. Juice will keep the baby, I've already talked to him about it."

"You went ahead and arranged it already, didn't ya?"

"Well, if I left it up to you, both you stubborn asses would sit on opposite ends of the couch at every Christmas for the rest of your lives."

"Don't call my girl an ass."

Maggie grinned. "Take a Post-it, and take her to lunch. Doctor's orders."

**-O-**

Ava was in front of the stove when he walked in like something out of a fifties ladies' home journal But instead of heels and pearls, she was barefoot and in tattered cut-offs and a waffle weave black long-sleeve. Sam was in the process of moving a whole stack of his little wooden alphabet blocks from one corner of the kitchen to the other.

"Hey, baby," she glanced up quickly from the skillet, wooden fork suspended above the beef she was browning. She smiled and the greeting Juice had been about to give Sam died in his throat.

He spared the kid a wave as he shut the back door, and then went straight to Ava, bumping up behind her and putting his arms around her waist. Her hair smelled like French fries from her day at work. She leaned back against him, tilting her head up for a kiss. Juice let his hands slip under her top and halfway up the smooth flat of her stomach until his thumbs touched her bra. "Hey, baby," he repeated back, resting his chin on top of her head when she turned back to dinner.

"You have a good day?"

"Yeah." He turned his head enough so he could watch Sam. He was now smacking two of his blocks together over and over, smiling at the loud noise it produced. "Glad to be home though."

She murmured an affirmative response. Her stirring had slowed and one of her hands now covered one of his. She moved ever so slightly back against him, just a little sway of her hips he wouldn't have noticed with his eyes, but could feel. He knew they were both still in that post-makeup clingy stage with each other. They still needed to be close, to know that the other was there and solid and touchable.

Juice had to force himself to move away. He turned a kitchen chair around so it faced the stove and he could watch her. Sam came to him the moment he sat, offering over one of his blocks. "Thanks, dude."

"He's been handing me soggy slobber-covered blocks all afternoon," Ava said over her shoulder. "Neeta said he slept a long time while I was at work, so now he's supercharged."

Juice frowned as he accepted L and R, putting them on the table. "I wish you didn't have to work at that damn diner."

"Why? I need the money."

"Yeah, but you're a writer." She snorted. "Yeah you are. And I know you hate having to get Neeta or your mom to watch Sammy. You should be doing what you want, and what you're good at."

Ava turned and leaned back against the counter, arms folded. She was giving him a skeptical look. "Writing was a pipe dream. Once I lost the magazine column, I knew I wasn't going anywhere else with it."

He grinned wryly. "Well, all the drama sure as shit didn't help."

She made a face and stared down at the floor and probably her dark blue toenail polish too.

"Babe, most people don't have your kinda talent. And I know you hate waiting tables."

She conceded with a small nod. "I'm gonna do whatever it takes to get us by, though; waiting tables, tending bar -," he wrinkled his nose up at that notion and she chuckled. "I was wondering though…Mrs. Hagan tried to get me to go to some big conference up in Seattle. I didn't cause the timing was bad, but there's another one coming up in about a month. It's in Sacramento, just a local thing, no big names, but she thinks any exposure would be -,"

"Go," Juice nodded. "Absolutely go."

"It would just be a day trip," she assured. "I already talked to Lyla and she wants to scope out some novelties store or something, she said she could go with me. I can probably get Mom to watch Sammy." She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, face hopeful.

"Again," he said with a smile ", go. I can probably keep Sam. We'll have a dude's day. You deserve this, Ava."

She beamed. He watched, enthralled, as she walked over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then she went back to their dinner without a word. Sometimes, even the most verbose of girls, a writer even, didn't have to say a damn thing to make him fall harder.

**-O-**

When Gemma announced she was hosting dinner for the _entire _family on Thursday, not a SOA related soul in Charming dared make other plans. The no pussy rule was enforced: no loose crow eaters were allowed, only dates. It was the first time in a long time that all of SAMCRO and their women were gathered and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. At least that's how it felt to Ava. She'd been nearly comatose the last two Christmases, so the shift in mood was probably just her imagination. Either way, it felt odd and wonderful to be there with her own little family.

After dinner, Ava was scrubbing the plates under the tap before putting them in the dishwasher when she was aware of a tall presence sidling up to her at the sink. A quick glance over her other shoulder proved that all the other Old Ladies had taken discreet steps back, giving space to the shadow that was cast over the white china in her hands. Ava wasn't surprised to find that it was Koz.

"Aww, you came to help me," she said with a fake smile and earned a snort.

"Hardly. C'mon, take a walk with me a sec."

She stowed the dish currently in her hands and then dried them off on the legs of her jeans, following him out of the kitchen and into the living room. All the rest of the guys were out on Gemma's patio and their voices wafted in through the open glass doors. Koz stopped at Clay's favorite recliner, one hand on the back of the leather chair, and she halted beside him. Outside, she could see Jax's kids running around in the yard, and Sam, sleepy after eating, was in Juice's lap. She couldn't keep from smiling.

"You guys doin' okay?"

She spared her faux uncle and long time protector a look. "Yeah, actually. Better than okay."

"Is it gonna last this time?"

She sighed. "I don't wanna start looking for problems and just creating them instead. That's what I did before."

He nodded. "Fair enough." Took a swig of his beer. "Where's his head at comin' outta this Rubio thing?"

She flashed on two nights before when she'd snapped awake with a start. Juice had yelled in his sleep and was bolt upright in bed beside her before she was even aware of what was going on. The sheets had been clammy with sweat. He'd sat a long time with his head between his knees, breathing in great rattling draws. Ava had put a gentle arm across his shoulders and sat with him, silent, until he'd been calm enough to lie back down.

"He's having nightmares," she admitted, frowning. "Bad ones. They wake him up at night." She shook her head. "He's still working on getting back to 'him', but nothing I can't deal with."

She glanced sideways and saw Koz staring out toward the patio, face thoughtful. "He is an idiot…but we all don't give him enough credit most of the time." His eyes cut toward her and his voice took on a lecturing tone. "You know I loved Hap, but _this _one," she knew he meant Juice ", he's good for you. Take care of him right this time and he'll take care of you."

"Oh believe me," she returned her attention through the open door again. Juice adjusted Sam so the now sleeping kid was belly-down on his chest as he reclined in one of Gemma's Adirondack chairs. "I plan on it."

**Tacoma, WA**

By the time Koz rolled into Tacoma, Saturday night was really more like Sunday morning. The plan had been to leave at first light, get home early enough to check in with Glen at the clubhouse and debrief him on the state of things – and idiots – in Charming. But Friday night's festivities had made that impossible, and now it was one thirty a.m. and the clubhouse wasn't the place calling his name.

The residential streets were quiet, save for a house party about three blocks from his destination where teenagers with plastic cups had spilled out all over the lawn. It was the one anomaly in an otherwise peaceful neighborhood. The first few trips had felt alien: trash cans on curbs and novelty mailboxes had never been his MO. His apartment was minimalistic; stark and cold. The sound of his Harley had earned sharp looks from some of the neighbors.

Cassie's house was a two-story the color of butter cream frosting. She was all about flowers: big beds lining the front walk and skirting around the side of the house, full to bursting with green plants the names of which he didn't know, all of them she'd said with a smile, ready to bloom when the weather turned warmer. And as impressive as the front yard was, the back garden belonged in a magazine – not a magazine _he _would read, but the kind she had on her coffee table. Koz had never been with a chick who liked to garden.

All the windows were dark save for hers, glowing warmly above the garage. He killed his bike in the drive, re-spiked his hair with one hand as he went up the front walk. It was well past the hour of knocking and won't-you-come-in pleasantries, so he put one foot in the flower bed just to the left of the door, where her concrete hear, see, and speak no evil gargoyles were settled in amongst the foliage. The spare key was hidden in the mouth of Speak No Evil – the thing's hands were hinged and slid away – and Koz let himself in without a sound.

The main floor was dark, pitch black really, and he cringed as he picked his way through, hoping he didn't trip on one of Luc's toys or that she'd rearranged the furniture in the three weeks he'd been away. In the time he'd known her, the sofa had been against every wall in the living room. He hit his knee on something, cursed, but finally reached the banister with one fumbling hand. "Graceful," he muttered as he headed up the stairs.

He paused a moment at the top of the steps. The guest bath was directly across the hall, a night light giving everything a milky cast that made the doorway just visible without being too bright. Koz spared one fast look to his left, down toward Luc's room and the guest room that was really an overflow storage space for things that wouldn't go up the precarious attic ladder. He lingered less than a moment. Luc was a funny kid; despite any preconceived prejudices he'd had about the under-ten crowd, he liked spending time with this one. But he wasn't in this thing – whatever it was – for Luc, and he wasn't here to see him tonight.

A strip of light peeked out from under Cassie's bedroom door, inviting. But he rested his palm against the wood. "Cass?" She had to have heard his bike pull up, but he didn't want to scare the shit out of her if he could avoid it.

When there was no response, Koz pushed into the room. Cassie wasn't there, but the gentle rise and fall of her voice told him she was in the shower, singing. He expected to be disappointed in the delay, but was instead a little glad for a moment. He ached all over from the road and only now, as he lifted his arms over his head and stretched, did his fourteen hour ride feel like it had come to an end. He inhaled deeply, grateful for the smell of her private space that was a mixture of her perfume, laundry detergent and the fresh cut flowers she always had in a crystal vase by the window. These were yellow and white, something that started with a D if he remembered correctly.

Cassie's bedroom looked like something out of a five-star resort hotel – not that Koz frequented locations boasting five stars, he was more of a two to three star range – but he occasionally watched The Travel Channel, when bored. The furniture was heavy, solid, dark wood. The bed was a massive four-poster number and it definitely dominated the space. Hearty drapes matched the comforter which matched the pillow cover things, hell even the lamp shade. It was a palette of rich, dark colors: reds, deep English greens, luxurious browns, hints of rusty orange, splashes of cream and black mixed in. The design was not frou-frou girly but was just feminine enough he could tell a chick picked it out. Koz didn't know shit about thread counts but he was pretty sure he should probably be impressed.

Koz toed off his boots and then started stripping off the rest of his battle gear. There was now a clear space on the dresser – where he always laid out his knife, wallet, gun – and even after time away, Cassie had left it reserved for him. An odd little thankful feeling stirred in his chest as he ejected the clip from his nine and set both carefully down. His cut and jacket got hung on the back of the chair that faced her closed bathroom door and he sat, finally, legs stretched out, waiting and listening to her sing.

Her voice got louder as the water shut off. _"I don't wanna be lonely no more, I don't wanna have to pay for this, I don't wanna know the lover at my door is just another heartache on my list…"_

After a moment, he realized the song was somewhat familiar: something by that Matchbox 20 dude. The Prospect always had the radio on some dumbass pop station at the clubhouse. He chuckled. He hadn't taken Cass for a Top 40 gal.

"_What if I was good for you? What if you were good for me? What if I could hold you til I feel you move inside of me?"_

When she emerged a few moments later, Cassie's singing had turned to humming. She was in a white silk kimono robe covered in orange and yellow flowers. Her wet hair was loose and she toweled it dry in the mirror above the double vanity sinks that were set in the short hall between bed and bathroom, across from the closet doors. She hadn't seen him and Koz waited, enjoying the chance to watch her when she didn't know she had an audience.

His description to Ava – the "holy shit" line the girl and her elephant memory would never fucking forget – hadn't been a fib, or even a mild stretching of the truth. Even without makeup and in her robe, Cassie was a knockout. The silk draped and smoothed in all the right places, sheer enough he could tell she was naked underneath, and her hair looked black when it was wet like this. And instead of his standard, clubhouse tits and ass scan, he found his gaze sweeping over all of her; her face, the long column of her throat when she pulled her hair over one shoulder, her hands, slim ankles…he was hopeless. Yeah, enough with the secret admirer routine.

"Hey, gorgeous."

The only sign that she was startled was her sudden freeze. But she shook it off quickly, lowering the towel as she turned toward him, her small smile disbelieving, but stretching to all-out pleased. "Hey, you." Her face said a thousand things about not having expected him, expressed a little sadness over his lack of a text message that day. He'd sent her a general what's-up-with-you every day he'd been gone, save for the night before and all throughout his trip today. But Cassie didn't comment on any of that. "How was your trip?"

A complete success on so many levels. "It was good," his grin turned into a smirk. "You miss me?"

She shrugged as she draped her towel across the counter. "Maybe." But her eyes gave away the beaming smile she was holding back. Koz always had the feeling that things were much more intense below her surface, that she kept a lot what she wanted to say to him in check. Inwardly complicated, outwardly simple – it took a smart, self-controlled woman to pull that off. The Charming Old Ladies were some of the smartest he'd known – but they didn't have a lid down on their emotions, not like Cass did.

He shifted against the back of the chair in anticipation as she walked toward him. It was subtle, but he could tell she put a little extra swing to her gait and by the time she climbed into the chair with him, knees on either side of his lap, he was thoroughly excited. She looped her arms around his neck and leaned in close, her face hovering an inch from his a moment. She liked that – the closeness – and the concept was foreign to him. The whole point of proximity was touching, but this was just about…he didn't know what it was about. But didn't have to dwell on it long when he cupped the back of her head, hair damp against his palm, and pulled her into a kiss.

She scooted up further on his lap and his free hand slid up her thigh: her robe was rapidly coming loose from its belt tie. Koz hadn't realized what a hair trigger he was playing with tonight until now, when he was with her. Blowing off steam after Rubio with the crow eaters had been necessary, but Cassie in his lap now took need to a whole new level, one that was focused.

He flashed, for just a moment and without wanting to, on something Juice had said about Ava. The poor dope had been sitting on the curb, head in his hands, trying to convince himself that the two of them being together couldn't work. _"She's like looking into the sun and I can't even see anymore. I care too much for it to be a good thing."_

Just as quickly, he shoved the thought away. He was not that man, and he did not have those thoughts. This was about his hand sliding between the halves of Cassie's robe as he deepened their kiss further, half-drunk on the taste of her mouth.

Koz didn't expect her to push away when he felt her palms on his chest, but she did, and he hated the sound of their lips coming apart. "What?" Cassie looked a little out of breath, but her expression was more serious than he had hoped. "You okay?"

"MmmHmm." She leaned in 'til their foreheads touched a moment. "I did miss you though."

"Three weeks is a long time," he conceded. "How many 'lovers' you got at your door, darlin'?"

"What, that old song?" Cassie snorted. "You're _not_ funny," even though he could make her laugh until she cried. She shifted around so she was mostly sideways on his lap, her legs hooked over his knees, body leaned back against his chest. He liked the position actually; it afforded a nice look over her shoulder and down into the front of her open robe. "How's your 'niece'?"

"Ava?"

"That's her name?"

"Yeah. She's good," he nodded. "Kid's been through a lotta shit, but I think things are settlin' down."

Cassie nodded and sighed. "I know the feeling." She rolled her head to the side and he felt the soft stroke of her finger against his neck, tracing the letters of his tat. 'Kozik' in black script in remembrance of his father. Though she had none of her own, she loved his tattoos, liked to run her hands over the inked tribute to the club on his chest. And she was usually in a thoughtful mood when she did so.

"What's goin' on in your head?" he prompted. It was a bit of a selfish request because he knew working out the mental side of things would get them to the physical faster. But also because, oddly, he did want to know.

She was quiet a moment. "You know I don't like to be that girl who pushes for things."

Oh, God, not one of _those _conversations…but his flight instinct didn't kick in.

"I am perfect with what we have going on right now."

"Yeah?"

He tilted his head enough to see the question on her face. "But I keep thinking I don't want to get my hopes up. And I don't want Lucas to be disappointed." She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears, pulling it over her shoulder and twisting it. "I won't say that I'm looking for a definition of what we are….well, actually…shit, that's exactly what I'm looking for. It's been almost five months and it'd be nice to know where you land with us."

He'd half expected something like this much sooner. The girl was a trooper to have put up with their undefined status for as long as she had. And he held no resentment toward her question. Brutal honesty had always been his policy when it came to his brothers, and for the first time in all his forty-five years, he thought a woman deserved a little of that brutal honesty.

"Cass, I won't lie, I don't know what _this_ is. But I know _where_ I want to be. After three weeks away, I know I shoulda done more than send you a random text, and I'm sorry. I ain't big on phone calls and texting every fuckin' minute... but even if I'm not, that doesn't mean that you're not on my mind. I'm not gonna suffocate you twenty-four-seven with my presence…not gonna sling you through my belt loop. We've both got busy lives in addition to the time we spend being _us_... but I'm not planning on treating you like a convenience store - something I hit up on a whim." 

She was quiet a moment, digesting. "Not a whim, huh?"

"Nope."

**-O-**

Cassie hadn't expected Koz to even say as much as he had. She was no dummy when it came to the lifestyle he led and the kinds of promises he would probably never make. So his admittance that there was _something _between them, that it wasn't just a hookup for him, meant more to her than she'd thought it would. She'd come out on the other side of her share of life's mistakes with very little faith in men. Especially men like him. So Koz was a surprise. And she couldn't fight the warm, fluttery feeling in her chest. Committed or not, she'd missed the hell out of him these past three weeks.

She shifted around on his lap so she faced him again, and that's when she noticed the change in his facial expression. All his cautious playfulness was gone, replaced by an intensity that sent a shudder down her spine. They were definitely through talking.

He took a not-so-gentle hold of the hair at the back of her head and pulled her mouth to his again. Hotter, more urgent, more demanding than before. Cassie ran her hands down his torso, disappointed by the layers of clothing that separated his skin from her hands.

"Here," he pulled away and pushed her gently back. She didn't argue, standing and giving him room to do so too, eyes riveted as he shrugged out of his flannel shirt and reached for the hem of the thermal knit. "Lose the robe."

She did, letting it slide off her shoulders and puddle at her feet on the carpet. His eyes lifted a moment, sweeping her head to toe, and again she was shivering, her own eyes tracing the beautifully scripted SOA across his chest. They gave each other a moment of appraisal, but it was over in a flash and then they were crashing together.

Koz's hands felt like they were everywhere at once and Cass fought to keep their kiss going while she unbuckled his belt. She rapidly felt herself losing control, though, becoming so twisted up with the need to have him inside her that she became clumsy. Her hands were shaking as she worked down the zipper of his jeans and that was when Koz took the reins firmly, and finally, from her.

He walked her back, hands on her hips, and sat her down on the edge of the bed. He ditched his jeans and boxers in one move. Cassie's breath quickened in anticipation as he joined her. She laid back, welcoming his weight, legs parting at the slightest pressure of his knee. When she reached between them and stroked his cock, it was only a moment before he gathered both her hands in one of his and cranked them over her head, pinning them to the mattress. Cassie gasped, spine arching at his display of dominance. It wasn't going to be one of those gentle nights of lingering caresses and sweet whispers. The taut cords in his neck, the startling intensity in his eyes promised something much more raw and primal.

Koz gripped her hip so hard she knew he left bruises and didn't care, tightening her thighs along his waist. The mattress dipped as he bore down on her, his body beautiful in the way it twisted to keep her pinned down. She couldn't bite back the relieved moan that escaped her lips when the head of his cock pressed for entrance.

But he froze, not but an inch inside her and Cassie started to shake. "Koz," she murmured, trying to lift her hips. He pushed her back, though, held her off. "God, I need…" she fought his hold again and inhaled with a hiss. "Please…I missed you…I -,"

He drove into her hard. As he pushed deep inside her, she felt him release her hands, yet something in his eyes told her to leave her arms as they were, wrists crossed above her head. The position made her feel vulnerable, but sublimely open; she saw it for what it was – a trust thing. And she did trust this man; an odd admission to be making as he moved inside of her. But trust was not merely a lack of fear, or a sense that she wouldn't endure any physical hurt. She was trusting him not to leave emotional scars, and those were the most dangerous.

The hand that had previously been binding hers slid down her side and as he braced his weight with the other, he pulled her legs up over his hips. The slight change in body angle afforded him deeper penetration.

"Cassie," she heard him rasp.

She opened her eyes and only then did she realize she'd even closed them. The room was spinning... or maybe it was just her mind... she had to force herself to focus on him as her body climbed towards a peak. His eyes consumed her, she could feel them just as sure as a physical touch. He stilled, his entire body taut with and shaking with the strain of maintaining such control. Cass watched a vein in his temple throb, and buried deep within her, she felt his cock pulse with the same rhythm.

"Cassie," he repeated. This time there was a commanding edge to his voice. His fingers dug into her hips.

Instinctively she uncrossed her wrists and reached for him. He met her halfway, grabbing hold of her forearm and all but yanking her upward against him, plunging even deeper inside her than she'd felt possible. Her mouth found his as she gave into her most visceral needs and began riding him. One of his arms banded tightly around her back as they slammed together. Her nails raked his back and dug into his upper arms and shoulders. One moment his free hand was tangled in the long lengths of her hair, the next it was reaching and flinging the various bed pillows out of the way so he could settle her back down on the mattress, once again regaining control.

Cassie closed her eyes and let go of conscious thought, let her body move with his. And it wasn't long before she was consumed by the breathtaking head rush and full-body electrical storm of orgasm. Koz lingered above her afterward and she would have sworn she felt the thump of his heartbeat through his whole body. She loved the feel of his weight pressing her down into the mattress. She'd missed him, all of him. Fresh off the road he smelled like a little bit of dirt and a whole lot of man. The grit grime and sunburn was always a bit of a turn on.

Finally, Koz shifted off her and though she regretted it, that post-coital satisfied exhaustion was settling over Cassie like a fog. She didn't protest and they both clumsily managed to strip the covers back on the bed without getting off of them. Then she was on her side, the cool of the sheets a blessing, with Koz snuggled in behind her. He put a strong arm around her waist and wedged one leg between both of hers. Before sleep pulled her under, she was aware of how completely peaceful and safe she felt in his arms. And how glad she was that he was back.

**-O-**

It wasn't uncommon for Koz to wake up with a warm body wrapped around him. And for one moment, as his eyes snapped open he was overwhelmed with the urge to shove whichever sweetbutt had overstayed her welcome out of bed and away from him. But then he caught a whiff of her shampoo and he realized he was in Cassie's room, and it was her who sighed quietly in her sleep beside him. The night before came back to him and his dissatisfaction vanished.

He needed a shower, but didn't want to wake her, so decided on a smoke instead. Carefully, Koz slipped out of bed without waking her and stepped into his jeans, going barefoot and shirtless downstairs and out on the back deck. The contrast between this morning and his usual – his old – Sunday routine, was as striking as the fresh rays of March sunshine spearing up from the horizon like something off a postcard. After a night of turning a club girl into a supermodel with the help of a whole lot of whiskey, he was usually lucky to be up before noon. Glen's wife, Janine, usually made dinner for him and a few of the other chronic bachelors out of pity.

But there was no reason to pity him this morning. And the road didn't call to him. After the few weeks he'd had, he felt peaceful. Revenge hadn't made Juice feel any better because that's not what he'd wanted. Koz had poured two shots of perfectly good Jack on the pavement that night to salute his dead brother, but oddly, it was now, this morning that the revenge felt worth it. "Like lookin' into the sun," he muttered to himself, stubbed out his smoke and went back inside.

Luc was up and parked in front of the TV when he went back through the living room. The kid jumped about a foot. "Koz! You're back!" But he quickly turned suspicious, eyes narrowing. "Why are you here before breakfast? And where's your shirt?"

"Um…" he scratched a hand back through his hair.

Luc was a cute kid, dark-haired like his mother. The look on his face much too knowing for someone so young. "Did you spend the night? Did you guys have a slumber party or something?"

"Yeah," Koz couldn't stop his grin. "Or something." He left Luc to his cartoons and went to head upstairs. He didn't expect to see Cassie halfway down the steps, holding in a laugh with a hand over her mouth.

"Slumber party?" she asked with a huge smile.

He shrugged and returned her grin. "What?"

**TBC**


	36. Be Alright Again

**AN: **You guys have been so fantastic with reviews, that I didn't want to wait another week to finish this chapter and update. So, here's the first half. Thanks so much for all the feedback!

…

**36. Be Alright Again**

**One Month Later**

Ava braced a hand on the wall as the chair wobbled under her feet. She stretched her free arm up, adjusting the banner that seemed determined to foil them at every turn. "How's that?" she managed to ask around the thumb tack clenched between her teeth.

"Perfect," Maggie said with a nod. Ava pushed the tack in and was grateful to climb down off the precarious chair that had nearly killed her twice. "Damn, I can't believe it's his birthday already."

"I know," she surveyed the streamers and the big 'Happy Birthday Sammy' banner she and her mom had spent the morning painting. Chibs and Maggie's house was rapidly turning into a dollar store party nightmare with the blue and red explosion of decorations. He would only turn one once Maggie had reasoned, but Ava was pretty sure she'd be shaking iridescent glitter specks out of her hair for weeks.

"I mean, really," Maggie went on. "My grandbaby is a whole year old tomorrow."

"I'm aware of that, Mom," Ava said with a chuckle. "I was kinda there when he was born."

"Smartass," her mother gave her a play shove as she went to put the chair back in the kitchen. "It's getting close to time for your appointment, isn't it?"

"Yeah." And an unbidden little shiver of nervous excitement rippled through her. Sam's party was going to be the next day at noon, but they had decorated today because she had a three o'clock with an artist Opie had highly recommended. "I guess I should get going. You sure you don't mind keeping Sam?"

"Like you even have to ask that," she snorted. Maggie folded her arms and leaned up against the wall in the foyer as Ava gathered her keys and purse. "And just so you know, I fully support this idea."

Ava gave her a curious glance. "I know it isn't the mature, emotionally healthy thing to do, but it feels like something I have to."

"Babe, for you, this is the straight-up definition of mature and emotionally healthy. I think you have to do it – it's gonna tell him more than words can."

She nodded and took another deep breath. "I didn't expect to be so nervous."

"Nerves are good," Maggie confirmed with a grin. "Means there's something at stake."

**-O-**

"You got any smokes, kid?"

Juice motioned toward his cut lying on the bench seat between him and Chibs as he navigated the maze of side streets in the tow truck. "Inside pocket…shit, was that our turn? Where the fuck are we?"

"You're the one's s'posed to be navigatin'," Chibs said merrily as he dug through the pockets of Juice's cut. "I just know we're goin' to Lodi."

"Gee thanks. We're _in _Lodi. I got no idea what goddamn street we're on."

His answer was a whistle and his first thought was that the Scotsman had spotted a hot woman on the sidewalk. But when he cut a glance over to the passenger seat, his heart stalled. Chibs hadn't found the smokes, but was instead holding the little black velvet box he'd been carrying around for nearly two weeks now.

"Is this what I think it is?" Chibs asked, a hint of a laugh to his voice.

Juice felt his palms go clammy immediately. So long as he was the only one who knew about the box, there was no pressure associated with it. Chibs seeing it made it all the more real. Now he had to worry about rejection. "I dunno," he shrugged and tried to play it off.

Chibs was unconvinced and opened it. "Uh…Juicy-boy, you do know it's s'posed to be a diamond, yeah?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I can't afford a diamond right now."

From the corner of his eye, he could watch the Scot pull the dainty white gold and onyx ring out of the box and hold it up to the light. "Where'd you get it?"

"The curiosity shop on Thompson Street -,"

"At the fortune teller's place? Ha!"

"What?" Juice bristled. "That old hag had some kickass jewelry, man." Then he realized how hopeless the whole thing sounded and groaned. "She's gonna laugh at me."

"Nah," Chibs said as he put the ring back in the box and snapped it shut. "Her mum would, Gemma too, but not Ava."

"I can upgrade it eventually, set a little money aside each month."

"Don't bother. She'll love this."

It was quiet a moment in the truck, and Juice finally couldn't help but ask ", so…you're cool with me asking her?"

He sighed. "I'd always hoped it would go in the order of nice boy, ring, house, then baby. Instead it turned out house, baby, nice boy, ring." Chibs shrugged. "Can't ask for it all I don't guess. Aye, you got my fatherly permission – whatever the hell that's worth."

Juice snorted, but his inner grin was ear to ear and ridiculous.

"When you gonna pop the question?"

"I'm not sure," he said truthfully. "I don't want her to say 'yes' just because it's so soon…I mean, I know she's different, and I know she's serious about her feelings…I just want the timing to be right."

Chibs laughed. "Ain't no such thing as right timin'. Just don't bust it out in the middle of the boy's party tomorrow."

**-O-**

Juice's nightmare three nights before Ava went to her writers' conference had been his worst yet. He'd come home about thirty minutes late, which was okay because she'd been slow to get dinner started. It was so warm outside they'd grilled – or rather, he had. Teriyaki chicken. With pineapple slices. And she'd made his favorite kind of mac & cheese with bacon and crumbled potato chips on top, green beans, real, flaky biscuits and not just prepackaged dinner rolls. Sam she fed first, and then he walked circles around the table, grabbing at their clothes and babbling baby-speak, bringing them toys. It had been achingly domestic, but in a good way, the way too many SweetTarts made her tongue burn.

She'd cleaned the kitchen and bathed Sam and bed had once again been a welcome end to the day. She slept like the dead lately. Juice had stayed up late, on his laptop, stuck with a flare up of ADD insomnia. He'd kissed her and told her to go to sleep, he wouldn't be up much longer.

He still hadn't been in bed when she stirred at three. But he wasn't at his computer either. Ava had rolled over and touched his pillow; found it cool. She had been so damn tired, and for one moment started to let sleep take her again, convinced he was in the living room playing video games. But she hadn't done that, instead got up and crept down the hall. The nursery door had been open and in the glow of the nightlight, she had seen Juice in the rocker, hands holding tight to the knobby arms of the chair, staring at the crib.

She'd walked in slowly, so as not to spook him, checked that Sam was still blissfully asleep, and then sat down on the carpet, knees curled under her, head resting against Juice's knee. "You okay?"

"Yeah," but his response was the breathy, disconnected one he gave when he was miles from okay.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

He hadn't answered, which meant yes, and that it had been a doozy. After a moment, he'd taken a deep breath – she knew he did that when he didn't want to say whatever he was about to – and the words had come out with careful slowness. "It helps: seeing him and knowing it was the right thing to do." And that was all he said, was then eerily quiet afterward until she could take it no longer and towed him back to bed. She almost hadn't gone to her conference, but he'd been back to his goofy self by that Saturday morning and had all but pushed her out the door.

That had been just over a week ago, and Ava was snatched out of her memories as the tattoo needle passed right over her spine. She hissed a breath in through her teeth and dug her fingers into the underside of the table to keep from flinching.

"This is the bad part," the artist, Freddy, told her with an apologetic note to his voice. "But it won't take long. You're doing great, Ava."

Freddy was instantly likable. Quiet, unassuming, skinny and covered, literally, head to toe with ink. He'd smoked while he did a rough sketch of the lettering she wanted, only needing one look at the 'Happy' scripted across her back to get the font just right. He was – as she figured all tattoo artists should be – the kind of person you felt like you'd known your whole life. He hadn't asked anything obnoxious about her request, had just nodded and said matter-of-factly ", I can do that."

"Big weekend plans?" he asked after a bit, his reedy voice not much louder than the hum of the gun.

She smiled despite the stinging pain across the skin of her back. "My son's first birthday."

"That's awesome." And she felt the wipe of a paper towel. It was a rhythm: needle then towel.

She spent the next forty-five minutes telling a perfect stranger about Sam's party.

**-O-**

Juice didn't bother to knock when he got to Chibs and Maggie's place later that afternoon. He paused a moment in the foyer to admire the banner he knew the girls had painted – it was funny, but he'd adopted a Chibs phrase with ", the girls," like they were his too. Like Ava and her mother were a unit that he now had a claim to, which, really, he did.

"Hey, Mags?" he called.

"Dining room!" she responded. The Telford dining room wasn't as grand as the Morrow dining room, but it was nicely appointed. And he'd had nearly as many family dinners around it has he'd had with Clay and Gemma. Maggie was up on her knees on the table, weaving curly strings of blue ribbon through the chandelier. "Hey, sweetie," she greeted without looking. That had become automatic: folding him into her family with the sweeties, babies, and honeys. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah." Juice rubbed at his mohawk, suddenly nervous. "I actually wanted to see if I could talk to you about something."

Maggie's eyes cut over as she finished with the ribbon, and he could already see he'd caught her interest. "Okay." She arranged the curly-cues to her liking and then climbed off the table. "Sit," she waved him to a chair across from her, and by the time he was seated, she looked like she was tingling with curiosity.

"Um…" he started and then blew out an uneasy breath. If any of his brothers knew he was doing this, they'd laugh him out of the room. When you asked a girl to marry you, you asked for her father's permission, which he'd already done in a roundabout way. You didn't ask her mother.

But Ava's mother had been her sole parent for a long time. And they were closer than mothers and daughters had any right to be: they'd held each other's hands through heartbreak. And between Maggie and Chibs, Juice knew it was more important to have the girl's mother in his corner, singing his praises. So he took a deep breath and pressed on.

"I, um, I know it's only been a month or so, but Ava and I are back to being pretty solid."

Maggie was smiling, but her expression plainly said _duh, you bonehead._

"Right, okay, you knew that…um, I already talked to Chibs about this, but I wanted to come to you too. And I know you'll think it's too soon, and you're probably right…of course you're right, but I -,"

"Juice?" her smile widened. "The ADD's kicking in. Just spit it out, honey."

He nodded, took another deep breath. "I'm gonna ask her to marry me. And I wanted to see how you felt about that."

Maggie blinked exactly five times, big, slow, watery blinks, and then she pushed up and came around the table. She pulled him into a sideways hug. "I feel perfect about that," she said, trying her best to crush his shoulders together in her arms. Juice had never had a mother – not one he'd known or been hugged and kissed by anyway – and for a moment he had a glimpse of what that might have been like. Maggie kissed him on his head, right over one of his lightening bolts. "Yes, please marry my daughter. You guys deserve that."

**-O-**

With her freshly tattooed and plastic-wrapped back under her shirt, Ava had to go back to her mother's house to help her cook and finish with the setup for the next day. It was well after dark and Sam was tired to the point of crankiness when she finally headed home. Juice had already eaten, so she skipped dinner, opting for a hot shower and carefully smearing ointment over her new ink instead. The bedroom was shadowy when she climbed between the covers and Juice looked half asleep, lifted an arm out of habit for her to snuggle beneath. She almost showed him the tat, almost, but at the last second decided the moment didn't feel right. If he reacted oddly – which she was suddenly terrified that he would – then she'd be a mess the whole next day at Sam's party.

"Night, baby," he mumbled sleepily.

"Night." She kissed his collar bone and settled in, eyes closed, her tattoo still a secret.

She dreamt about Hap that night, not because she wanted to or was missing him particularly. But she'd half expected the new ink to trigger some sort of nightmare. Instead it was just a dream, one she was aware of while she was in it, but was restricted by that special dream magic that prevented her from saying all the dozens of things she wanted to.

One moment she was awake in her dark bedroom, listening to Juice snore, and then she was at the Bluebird warehouse property, the sun beating down so hard it was like a physical weight pressing on her. There was Hap, not as he'd been before he died, but a younger Hap, in his early thirties, when she'd been just a little girl. He had a short, black head full of hair, those narrow sideburns he'd grown way back when. He was smoking, sitting on a ruined scrap of building, and nodded to her. For one second, she saw him as a window to Sam's future; what her son would look like down the line.

They stayed like that awhile, her staring at him. And Ava kept waiting to be slammed with an overflow of grief, joy, hell, even insanity. But she was calm. She didn't cry. "I got a new tattoo," she finally blurted, and the words seem monstrous and loud inside the natural glen where the burned out warehouse sat.

Hap didn't respond at first, kept smoking. But then nodded forward, toward the trees. When she turned, Ava didn't find a forest, but a house, _her _house. There were blue balloons on the mailbox, getting tugged by the breeze and bumping into one another with rubbery sounds. She accepted the house's appearance without question; it was a dream after all. The gravel crunched and she saw Hap get up, walk toward the little squat, dark gray square of wood siding.

"Sam's birthday," she said lamely. She hadn't even wanted to say it, but it had just come out.

Hap nodded.

"We're gonna be late if we don't go in now."

Silence stretched, the balloons no longer making noise. That eerie, dream quiet that was somehow so loud. "You go ahead," he mused after a bit. And then the sun pushed down on her so bright, until she couldn't breathe…

And _boom_, awake again, back in her bed, dawn's light creeping through the blinds. Juice had managed to somehow roll halfway on top of her and that was the crushing weight she'd felt in the dream and thought it was the sun. It was a little hard to pull in another breath, and her left arm was numb, but slowly, Ava smiled.

Even though it was a dream, she'd seen Hap, and she hadn't shed a tear, hadn't wound up prostrate on the ground, bawling. No, she'd seen him, her subconscious had dredged him up for a mental scolding – only she didn't need to be scolded. Because she'd done nothing wrong and was right where she was supposed to be. It would be okay. It would _all _be okay.

**TBC**


	37. Chariot

**37. Chariot**

Ava almost quit her job the next morning when Sharon called and told her she needed her to be at work by three. Three? Did that old cow not know that she had Sam's birthday to take care of today? The nerve! But she forced out a brittle ", okay then," closed her phone and climbed in the shower. She was rinsing her hair when she caught a glimpse of Juice, distorted by the frosted glass of the shower stall, at the sink brushing his teeth.

_Shit_, was her first thought. She didn't want Juice seeing her ink now, not before the party. Though waiting was making her more and more anxious about it. Her towel was hanging over the top of the shower door, and she wrapped it around herself the moment she cut the water off. She smiled as she tucked the towel in under her arm: Juice was shaving his head now, and singing.

"_Oh, Chariot…your golden waves…are walking down…upon this face…"_

By the time she'd wrung her hair out and exited the shower, he was well into the second verse and Ava was laughing. He had a decent singing voice, but he was doing this head-bob, side-to-side sway thing that was a bold reminder of the old Juice, the Juice she'd known when she was sixteen and seventeen. The Juice who wouldn't mind being caught singing Gavin DeGraw songs while he had shaving cream all over his head.

Ava laughed as she stepped up beside him at the mirror, securing her wet hair with a clip. "You're in a good mood. Did I get the dates mixed up and it's actually _your _birthday?"

"Nope." His grin was huge and she felt her own smile widen. He was infectious when he was like this. "Come on, you know you love that song. _Oh cha-ri-ot, I'm singin' out loud…"_

She did love the song. The lyrics brought with them a sun-drenched summer afternoon - so hot she'd left half the skin of her legs against the vinyl seats of the tow truck - a rotting banana, a pack of Camels and an empty bottle of Myoplex protein shake on the dash; watching Juice's richly tan hands on the steering wheel. He had been, in that summer, the absolute embodiment of what a sixteen-year-old girl should have fallen in love with. And she probably had. Deep down somewhere where she hadn't wanted to acknowledge it, she'd fallen for him. And it had managed, with a slow and perfect aging like good wine, to endure the hurricane that was her love for Hap.

"So, when I wrapped Sam's presents yesterday," she started and then took a deep breath ", I marked them from 'Mama and Daddy'."

He didn't so much as blink in reaction; kept dragging the razor back across his scalp and humming to himself. "'Kay. Hey, what did your mom call about this morning?"

Ava heaved an internal sigh of relief. It might have been overkill, but she was being logical and careful this time around, and so far, she hadn't hit a single wall with Juice. Their togetherness didn't seem to have any barriers. Now if only her tattoo was a success. "She doesn't think she has enough plastic forks. And she needs candles for the cake, so I told her we'd stop at the store on our way over."

**-O-**

Forks turned into more chips and an extra bag of ice, one more six-pack of beer. They were loading it all in the backseat of the truck when Ava said ", shit."

"What?"

She rubbed her forehead right between her eyebrows the way she did when she was stressed. Juice was having a hard time understanding why a birthday party for a one-year-old was such an event. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew it had a lot to do with who Sam was, who his mom was, and the fact that they were together again. Gemma and Maggie liked to smooth tender, careful relationships with cream cheese frosting and endless tubs of beer.

"The candles," she said like she couldn't believe she'd forgotten. "I'll just run back in real quick. You wanna watch him?"

"C'mere, dude," he plucked Sam out of her arms and set him on his hip. "We'll wait out here."

Ava nodded and stretched up to kiss him on the cheek before she went back into the store. She'd been acting a little weird so far today. Tentative almost, her touches quick and light, not giving him those gooey, warm from the oven chocolate chip cookie eyes like she usually did. The few times he'd caught her watching him unawares; her glance had been almost worried he thought. He knew the mushy stage wouldn't last, but he was a little worried about whatever was going on in her head.

It was blindingly bright out, even Sam was squinting, so he stepped up on the sidewalk under the shade of the market's canvas awning and pulled the boy's hat down lower on his forehead. "What is she making you wear?" he muttered, making a face at the way the blue and white cap matched the blue and white overalls Ava had dressed him in. He looked like a fucking tiny train conductor. "Kinda gay, man. We gotta talk Mom into some wardrobe adjustments."

"Juice?"

He whirled at the sound of his name. There was a petite blonde a few paces away on the sidewalk, shopping bags in hand. In a sun dress, her hair pulled up save for a light swish of fringe bangs, it took him a long, awkward moment to place her. "Sarah?" he finally asked, and her perturbed look told him yes, this was the girl he'd been dating when Hap died, and she had expected him to remember her name a little faster. Jesus, did she own anything besides dresses? "Hey. What's up?"

"You have a baby," she said, ignoring the question. Her blue eyes were saucer-wide. "Wow."

As if he knew he was being talked about, Sam grabbed the collar of Juice's cut, pulling hard, babbling to himself. "Yeah."

He could see poor Sarah doing the math in her head. She shuffled her bags around, face twisting up. "Is he…_your_…baby?"

_Yeah, cause I'm in the habit of toting random kids around on my bike. _But he kept the lid on his snarky comeback, gave Sam a sideways look. The kid had a death grip on his collar, little fingers dug into the cut's sacred leather. _Mama and Daddy _Ava had said that morning with a plain question in her eyes, wondering if the tag would draw a negative reaction out of him at the party in front of everyone. _Are you sure you wanna do this? _had been all over her face. "Yeah," he said, feeling a smile break across his face. "This is Sammy."

Sarah nodded. She hadn't loved him, so she wasn't crushed, but the girl was flat-out shocked regardless. "He's adorable," she said with a shrug, a little like _what else can I say? _

"Thanks!" his smile widened. "We're waiting on his mom." He nodded toward the store front.

She nodded again and looked so awkward and so unsure as whether she should bolt or continue to make polite conversation that Juice didn't quite know how to help the situation. Ava made the decision for him.

"Alright, boys," he heard her call as she exited the market. "Have candles, will travel." Juice started to turn toward her but the rap of her boots halted, changed direction and she was at his side before he could go wide-eyed and swear up and down that running into Little Miss Dress-up Sarah had been a complete coincidence and in no way his fault. Ava's arm slipped around his waist, but he heard the barely perceptible strain to her voice when she politely asked ", you ready?"

If Sarah had been surprised before, she now looked ready to swallow her tongue. It had been over a year, and she'd only seen her once, but the image of Ava crumbling to pieces that day at the garage had obviously gotten lodged in Sarah's mind, because she no doubt recognized her now.

"Yeah," Juice answered quickly.

But then Ava shocked the hell out of him. "Sarah, right?" and earned a nod from the blonde. She started to extend a hand but realized the other girl was holding too many shopping bags. "Ava," she offered instead ", nice to see you again."

Juice realized two things; one of those epiphany moments that slammed into him from out of nowhere. One: Ava had done a whole lot of growing up since their God awful fight in the kitchen. And two: they were a different breed, he and Ava. Sarah belonged to the outside world and always world. Whereas Ava was pure MC, equally stuck in her social strata, but with her, he'd never have to explain a late night or a long run. She would never question his club duties. Their disagreements had never once been about SAMCRO. And _that _was what made her an Old Lady. He bumped her hip with his. "C'mon, you set?"

"Yep," she squeezed him around the middle and then let go, headed back for the truck. "See ya around, Sarah," she called over her shoulder. It wasn't until she was buckling Sam into his car seat that her fake smile dropped off her face. "Pretentious bitch," she muttered and Juice chuckled. Okay, so she hadn't changed _completely_.

**-O-**

Chibs met them at the door and Ava grinned when she heard her mother yell from the further depths of the house.

"Is that them, baby? Get the door!"

'That's what I'm doin'!" he yelled back, sighing dramatically. "Get your asses in here. Your mum's drivin' me insane."

Ava was carrying Sam and set him down once through the doorway. She accepted Chibs' one armed hug – they were doing better lately – and listened to the clip of her mother's high heeled sandals come out of the kitchen.

"There's the birthday boy!" Maggie exclaimed, scooping up Sam as he walked into her arms. Ava laughed. Her mother looked ready to burst with happiness; it had been a shame her heart condition had only allowed her one kid, she'd obviously wanted a whole litter.

"Hi, babies," she hugged Ava and Juice in turn, kissing their cheeks. "Juice, you can leave the bags on the dining room table. Mama, you're with me."

**-O-**

When she looked back on the day and talked about the party, Ava would say that it had been ", nice," and would smile in fond remembrance. But it had been more than nice, and her most precious take-away moments really had nothing to do with the vanilla frosted, two-tired chocolate cake, or the banner, or the possibly hundreds of balloons. Not Gemma's homemade cheese straws and French onion dip. The toys and clothes everyone had given to Sam. No, the best parts had been the little things. Clay's heavy hand on her shoulder and all the hidden things his smile said when he kissed her cheek. The way Chibs' laugh changed pitch when he was laughing at Sam. Juice wrapping one of the big, curling-iron produced twists of her hair around his finger on the way through to the kitchen. Maggie putting an arm around her shoulders and the two of them knowing what it felt like to be mothers.

The whole club turned out, and even Neeta came. Ava was pleasantly surprised that everyone so readily looked at Juice and her as ", parents," and not just Sam's mother and some other guy. They put Sam in his high chair and let him go to town on a piece of cake with his hands. He'd ended up with blue frosting all over his clothes and in his hair. Maggie took at least a thousand pictures.

And then it was time for presents. Ava sat on the floor with the couch against her back and let Sam sit between her legs. Johnny squatted down immediately and started tugging presents out of the stack. "Hey, hey now," Ava swatted the air with her hand. "Those aren't yours, Johnny."

"Why is Sam the only one who gets presents?" he asked, crossing his arms and doing a great impression of his mother when she was in a petulant mood.

"Cause it's his birthday."

"Well _I _want to open the presents. He's too little to know the difference anyway."

"You know," she started with a deep breath, watching as Johnny pulled one of the larger packages from the stack and shook it violently. "I remember _your _first birthday, Johnny, and nobody tried to take your presents."

"But Sam doesn't _know_."

"Honey," Tara spoke up, finally ", put that down. We'll get you something on the way home, but those are Sam's."

_On the way home? _Was she kidding? Ava could feel the anger bubbling up inside her, knew her expression was nasty. Juice came and plopped down on the couch, toed her in the hip. Without speaking, she could hear what he wanted to say. _Cool it, Mama._

"Jay," Jax called his son, and spared her a regrettable comment. "Get your little ass over here."

The kid sighed, but got off the floor and headed in his dad's direction. "Fine."

Ava cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Juice, twitching her eyebrows as if to say _that will so never be my kid._

His half smile said _no kidding._

**-O-**

"You know," Juice said from his position stretched across Chibs and Maggie's couch ", I've been to some insane parties."

Ava snorted.

"So why the hell did a kid's birthday wipe me out?"

"I dunno," she murmured, staring up at the ceiling. She was flat on the floor, Sam finally asleep next to her. Everyone had gone home except Gemma who was in the kitchen now, talking to Maggie over coffee. Ava could hear their voices; familiar, soothing. Chibs was on the back deck with a beer, had shoved Juice and told him to come with him, but so far he hadn't moved.

She rolled her head to the side; Juice was on his stomach, one arm dangling off the couch, knuckles on the floor. A laugh bubbled up her throat. What a doofus. His eyes had been closed, but they opened at the sound of her chuckle.

"What?"

_Now, _she thought. _Show him the tattoo now. _She only had fifteen minutes till she had to leave for work, but it was enough. And she was tired of waiting. Now the stress was gone and they were both relaxed. Now would be good.

"Come on," she said, sitting up carefully without disturbing Sam. "I wanna show you something."

**-O-**

As he followed her down the hall, Juice started to think that maybe ", show you something," was code for ", do something to you," and his drowsiness lifted. When she slipped into the hall bathroom and waved him in after her, he was sure of it, and grinned. "In your parents' house?" he asked, already reaching for his belt buckle. "Damn, baby, I didn't think -,"

"Hold on." She waved for him to stop, biting back a laugh. "No," she smiled ", sorry to get your hopes up. No hooking up in Mom's guest bathroom."

"Oh." He sighed and in a perfect imitation of Johnny rolled his eyes and said ", fine."

She covered her laughter with a hand and he felt like they were high school kids sneaking around. "Okay, okay, seriously, I did want to show you something." She cleared her throat and then took a deep breath, opening and closing her hands like she was limbering up her fingers to play the piano or some shit.

"Ava?"

"Okay." Another deep breath. Her eyes became wide and pleading. "Just…I dunno." She turned around and he started feeding off her nervous energy, shifting his feet. He watched, now beyond curious, as she picked up the hem of her shirt.

The skin in the middle of her back was still angry red from the scratch of the needle, and the ink was so black in contrast. Happy's name was in her tramp stamp area, the tails of the letters slipping beneath the waistband of her jeans. His eyes went there first, then skipped up to the new ink. Set on top of Hap's name, in identical black script, the letters so close to the ones below they bumped into one another, was his name. Juice.

It was simple, perfect, beautiful, and he was speechless. Juice could hear his respiration pick up, flashed hot and then cold all over. The bottoms of his feet tingled. But he just couldn't think of a damn thing to say. His eyes went over each letter. J-U-I-C-E…and then over them again. He hadn't expected and would never even have asked…just…wow.

Ava craned her neck around, biting at her lip, anxious. Then she sighed. "Well, I gotta get to the diner."

He nodded dumbly. _Say something, you idiot! _he yelled inside his head. But Ava had already lowered her shirt and was kissing him on the cheek. "I'll be home late," her smile was quick and tight. And then he was standing in the bathroom all alone.

"Goddamn," he muttered to the empty air, voice echoing against the tile.

**-O-**

Ava was exhausted by the time she got home. The light on in the front window of the house and the complete lack of any vehicles in the drive save for Juice's bike were so, so welcome at 11:45 p.m. No babysitter, no grandma, just her boys. She dropped her bag in the kitchen and unwound her braid as she went through the house, kneading her sore scalp with the tips of her fingers. She'd changed at the diner so she was at least in street clothes, but smelled like fry grease and wanted a shower.

She popped into Sam's room, sad that he was already asleep and she hadn't been able to put him to bed. "Night, baby," she whispered and lingered a moment over the rail of his crib. "Happy birthday."

She expected Juice to be passed out, or on his computer; certainly not sitting upright on the edge of the bed in just his boxers, one foot bouncing on the carpet in impatience. Ava stalled, hands still up in her hair. He looked so damn intense, eyes huge and almost black in the faint lamp light. "Hi…" she drew out the greeting, frowning.

It was silent a beat and he didn't respond. His gaze skipped all up and down her, eyes cutting across her body with crazy-fast movements, breathing through his mouth now. "Can I see it again?" he asked and just the tone of his voice gave her goosebumps.

She felt herself nodding, hands going to the hem of her shirt. She didn't have to ask what he was talking about. Like before, a self-conscious flush ran hot up her neck and popped in her cheeks. Ava peeled the shirt up over her head slowly, presenting her back, and the tattoo, to him again. It was the moment in Maggie's bathroom all over again: the silence filled only with the sound of his breath picking up. But then he touched her and she jumped a little, settling instantly when the rough pads of his fingers moved over the ink.

"Is it sore still?" he asked. She could feel that he traced each letter of his name, could envision the slight look of awe on his face.

"A little."

One hand grabbed tight to her hip, pulling her back a step until she bumped into his knees. She had known that putting his name on her would be a big deal, but she hadn't realized it would cause such a reaction in him. He was nearly reverent when he kissed her, lips feather light on her skin, and she trembled head to toe. She had decided, before she'd even made the appointment with Freddy, that if he freaked and didn't like the tat, oh well. Just like there had only been one Happy in her life, there would only ever be one Juice; he'd earned the spot and she wouldn't regret it even if they fell apart. But the way he touched her now, the way he understood just how important those five letters in permanent ink were, she couldn't have been more grateful.

One of his hands moved up her back and unclasped her bra. She let her arms go limp and it slid down them, landing with a soft sound against the carpet. When he grabbed both her hips and turned her around, she folded gratefully down into his lap, arms looping around his neck. There were no more tender pauses or heavy looks between them. Before she was settled he had a huge handful of her hair and crushed her mouth down to his. His tongue was strong and insistent and Ava felt her fatigue melting and giving way to arousal as she fought to catch her breath.

She knew, before he lay down and rolled her away from him, exactly what he wanted. She'd hoped for it really, got up on her hands and knees in the middle of the bed for him.

He took her from behind; twice. And she knew his fervor wasn't aggression, but an overflow of the sense of ownership the tattoo provided him. It was the final breakdown of barriers. And she knew he needed to look at it, to see that it wasn't just Hap's name staring at him, but his own. She had her head turned to the side and he would lean down and press a kiss to her cheek every so often, whisper to her; it was not just raw, but intimate too. Ava was sure she was spent, but managed another round in the shower.

Then his grin came out and he kissed her more gently under the falling water. "You didn't have to do it," he said, running a hand down her back that was now slippery with shampoo. "I was gonna try to slap a crow on ya." He laughed.

"No, I really did have to do it," she said, smiling back at him. "Not to mention I wanted to."

**-O-**

Ava woke up the next morning on her stomach, one arm between the mattress and the cool underside of the pillowcase. She was drowsy, kicked at the sheets and exhaled with lazy satisfaction. When she opened her eyes, she found Juice awake and staring at her, propped up on one elbow. "You're up early." She shifted so she was on her side also. "Nightmares again?"

"No," he twitched a smile. "I've been thinking about something."

"That could be dangerous," she teased and earned an eye roll. "Depends on what you were thinking about."

"Things," he feigned mystery and this time she was the one rolling eyes. "Good things…I hope."

"Okay, you're really terrible at this whole secretive, coy thing."

"Fine." He slapped a palm down on her hip, which kick-started her laughter, and leaned in for a kiss. "We both need mouthwash," he confirmed, making a face. "But, I wanted to ask you something."

She watched his mood shift suddenly, going from playful to nervous, which didn't quite make sense. "What, baby?" she prodded. When he was at his most earnest, he was completely childlike. She could imagine, in those moments, what he must have looked like as a little kid; a sweet, big-eyed, big-eared little orphan in New York. She reached up and stroked his cheek before she could suppress the urge, and like lightening, a single thought slammed into her so hard her heart did a great big somersault in her chest.

_I want another baby._

It was ridiculous, insane, a terrible idea considering the status of their relationship and bank accounts. She scolded herself the moment those four words whispered through her brain. But she'd thought them, couldn't _un_-think them, and deep down, she knew it was true. She was a little startled when Juice moved her hand from his face.

"Here."

"What?" she watched him lift his right hand from her hip and wrestle his left from the tangle of sheets between them. He pulled the ornate, gold reaper ring – one of his eight, all various skeletal figureheads – from his left hand ring finger and held it out to her. Ava cupped her palm automatically, the gold warm and heavy against her skin when he dropped it.

"Put that on your chain with his ring. I've gotta make room."

She narrowed her eyes. "Room for what?"

Juice's smile was slow and genuine, tinged with slyness, as he waved his hand at her, touching his now ring-less finger with his thumb.

"Your…oh!" she gasped, heart kick starting wildly. "_Oh! _Oh, baby, are you serious?"

He nodded. His smile stretched until it was dorky and huge, unable to keep up the playboy act. Ava would forever remember that smile, the way the brown of his irises was a deep chocolate in the morning sunbeams that slanted through the blinds, the dark tan of his skin against the crisp white sheets. She felt tears prick in the corners of her eyes when he said "; they all say you're crazy. You crazy enough to marry an idiot?"

She tackled him. Planted her hands on either side of his head on the pillow and landed lightly on top of him, kissing him until she felt his hands in her hair, pulling her down to him. He clung to her when she drew back, trying to keep their lips together.

"Is that a yes?"

"No," she grinned. "That's a hell fucking yes."

**-O-**

Juice was too busy congratulating himself and breathing a huge internal sigh of relief that he lingered a moment with Ava poised over him. Her hair was falling into his face and it took a moment for him to remember one integral piece of this whole proposal thing. She looked cute, all messy from sleep, and her smile was radiant as she sat back and unhooked the long chain she always wore around her neck. _Fuck yeah, _he thought as she slid his ring on and fastened the chain again. Now she had two rings to wear. Rings, rings, rings…"Oh, damn, I forgot!"

He started to get up and Ava protested with a startled yelp. "Shit, sorry, babe. Lemme up a minute."

She slid off his lap. "You're seriously killing the mood right now."

"Yeah, yeah, just keep thinking that." His cut was draped over the back of her desk chair and nervousness returned as he reached for the interior pocket and the little velvet box. He opened it and regarded the square-cut onyx set in white gold one last time, taking a deep breath and letting it out in a rush.

"Juice," there was a smile to Ava's voice, but a curious, sympathetic, is-everything-alright kind of smile. "You okay?" She chuckled. "I already said 'yes'."

"No," he grinned as he turned around ", you said 'hell fucking yes'. Big difference."

She chuckled. "You want me to say 'I hell fucking do' at the wedding?" And then her laughter died with an abrupt gasping sound, eyes widening. He didn't have to ask why her sudden start. The word _wedding _coming out of her mouth had sent a jolt through him too.

He sat down on the bed again, no longer smiling, and offered the box up to her on his palm. "It's not much," he scratched the back of his neck ", but I got you a ring."

She didn't move at first, he watched her chest heave against the tide of a huge breath, and then her hands shook as she took it from him and flipped the lid. Her reaction was textbook girl – at first anyway. Her dark lashes batted down against her cheeks rapid fire as she pulled the ring out and examined it. She sniffled as she slipped it on her finger and then held her hand out, admiring the way it looked there – and diamond or no, it did look good – but then she slapped her other hand over her mouth and burst into tear-strained giggles, high pitched and breathless.

Disappointment dropped like a stone in his belly. "I know, I know, it's not a diamond. It's a piece of shit really. I'm sorry. I can get you something better, if I save up, I can afford a real ring -,"

Her eyes lifted to his and she gasped. "No! Are you kidding? This is _perfect_!"

"Um…what?"

She shook her head. "I'm not laughing at the ring, God no. You know I'm not a diamond girl – that shit's way too fancy. No, no, baby," she assured, reaching for his hand. "I'm laughing cause this whole thing," she gestured between them and then at the room around them, meaning the house and the baby and the whole fucked up year and nine months they'd had ", is crazy. Crazier than you and me combined. And I just don't even know what to do except laugh."

**TBC**


	38. Why Wait

"_I've found that love can be a decision. Forgiveness, too." – _Belong to Me_, Marisa de los Santos_

**...**

**38. Why Wait**

Jax and Tara had done the wedding thing; an outdoor garden affair at a venue with an attached pavilion for the reception. It had been approximately a billion degrees; one of those rare scorching hot afternoons and Ava had sat in a white folding chair, fanning herself with a program, pitching nickels into a beer mug with Juice and swearing up and down, despite all his insistence to the contrary, that she would never, ever have a wedding. Would never stuff people into bridesmaid dresses or pick out flowers or pile her hair into impossible mountains of curls; nothing of the sort. On her own wedding day, she looked back on that memory, turned it inside out, and wondered if her afternoon with Juice back then was ironic, or cosmic. She didn't really believe in meant-to-be or prophetic timing – not at least once Hap had died – but she wondered, just a little bit.

She and Juice got married eight days after he proposed. No bachelorette party – much to Caroline's dismay – no dress, no club, no venue, no garden, no flowers. Just the two of them, in everyday clothes, at the San Joaquin County courthouse with Maggie, Chibs and Sam.

The fluorescent lighting was garish, luring shiny spots out of the oak desk and green leather chairs that were nearly blinding. The walls were lined with heavy, cumbersome bookcases, filled floor to ceiling with dark-bound law volumes with tiny gold print she couldn't make out. The judge was bored, reciting in monotone, glancing at them with disinterest every so often over the rims of his little reading glasses. Sam was fussy for some reason and Maggie kept shushing him sweetly with murmured words. But still, Ava ashamedly had to admit to a sensation of happiness so spectacular, it was almost magic.

Juice was holding her hand and she kept looking down at how pale her fingers looked inside of his, eyes tracing every callus and scrape and loose scrap of cuticle on his not-at-all manicured nails. His thumb kept flicking over and back across her knuckles. It was such a small, tiny gesture really, but it meant so much to her.

For all that he had been, there were still many things that Happy had not been: affectionate, playful, tender, attentive. She hadn't ever thought anyone could rival what she'd felt for him, but then Sam had come along. And there was no love like a mother's love for her child. Happy would not have loved Sam like she did, would not have carried him in the dead of night when he was colicky, singing to him. Wouldn't have offered to feed him two mornings before and wait on Neeta when she was running late for her early shift at the diner. Yes, Hap had loved her, but it had been born out of nearness, obligation and duty. It had been unconditional, but reckless, that kind of love he hadn't chosen and couldn't control, twisted and warped. And even though it had been strong, it had been unhealthy. Being in Romeo and Juliet die-for-each-other love was like a sickness and she knew that now. It didn't dull the pain of her loss, and it didn't diminish him in her mind – his ghost would always be a part of her, and rightly so – but now she knew what it felt like to _choose _to love someone, and to have him decide to love her back. With Happy, she'd always had to wonder, had to walk on eggshells and pray for his approval, try to decipher the moods that went on behind his flat, dark eyes. She never had to wonder with Juice.

He squeezed her hand and she knew, just as she had known the night before, at midnight, the whites of his eyes glowing in the dark as they faced each other – both too excited to sleep like little kids waiting for Santa – that Juice was the first person in her life to have ever chosen to love her the way he did. Her parents, Gemma, Hap, even Koz to an extent; they'd been so much a part of her growing up that love had been inevitable. She loved her best friend Caroline, but that was a different type of love. This, Juice, was a man who had met her, had chosen to help her cocky thirteen-year-old ass with her homework, had chosen to help her learn what it was like to be kissed, to feel physical desire. He chose to love her when she was insane and had to be scraped off the bathroom floor, when she hated him and he still hated her a little. He'd chosen to come back, and chose every day to be not just Sam's father, but his _dad_. Not because anyone told him to, not because he felt obligated, but because he wanted to.

Oh, shit, no, no, no. She absolutely could not cry anymore. She closed her eyes a moment. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry _she chanted in her head.

**-O-**

Ava was wearing a white eyelet camisole with a satin sash – Juice knew this because she'd told him that's what it was. He just thought it was a flimsy thing with a bunch of little holes in it that hugged her in all the right places. And under it she wore jeans and her riding boots. The front part of her hair was pulled back, the rest falling down her back, sleek and shiny.

When he'd asked her what she wanted him to wear, she'd reached into his closet and pulled out his favorite black jeans and a white, skull bedecked t-shirt. His regular get-up, even his cut.

As they stood in front of the judge and repeated the most uncluttered, non-denominational promises to ensure the legality of the arrangement, Juice wasn't having second thoughts. There was an odd sensation, though, brewing in his stomach. Marriage was not always everlasting. People got divorced, people moved on, people broke promises. But for him, who'd never had a family beyond the club, it was suddenly very, very crucial not to fuck anything up. Being married wasn't something that had ever tread too long on the forefront of his mind A woman who needed a gown the size of a parachute and a whole great big production of a wedding wasn't anyone who could put up with him. But this wasn't fussy or pretentious or someone asking something impossible of him. This was a girl he'd known for a long time, had loved almost as long, shooting him little glances, her whole body humming with excited energy. This he could do, this he wanted.

He glanced over toward her face again and saw that her eyes were shut, lids clamped down tight. She was breathing through parted lips, a look of extreme concentration on her face. He reached up with the hand that wasn't holding hers and brushed his palm along her head, smoothing her hair above her ear. "Baby," he whispered.

Maggie gasped behind them, just a quick inhale in reaction to his gesture. The kind of happy mother sound he'd slowly come to decipher after spending enough time with her.

Ava opened her eyes and shook her head, a quivering smile breaking out. "I will _not cry_," she whispered back fiercely. And she didn't. Her whole body shook and she squeezed his hand until he thought she might cut off his circulation, but she didn't shed one tear.

"…by the power vested in me by the State of California…"

Ava's eyes flipped wide and she let out a little gasp. This was it. This was _it. _

"…I now pronounce you husband and wife."

**-O-**

"What's on the itinerary today, girls?" Clay asked over the morning paper and Tara couldn't help but recognize that slight note of amused condescension in his voice. It was amiable though. Gemma hung the moon in his world, but the question was the equivalent of an eye roll at all the womanly concerns that filled her day. Tara twitched a smile: Jax asked her nearly the same thing every morning.

Gemma refilled all three of their coffee mugs and managed to peer through the doorway at the boys as she sat. She was multitalented like that. "We need to go shopping," she told Clay, motioning toward Tara.

"We do?" the doc asked.

"Yeah." The former – and probably always – Queen blew the steam off the top of her mug and passed her a small smile before she took a sip. "Gotta pick up a wedding gift."

That got Clay's attention. He frowned as he lowered his paper a fraction. "Wedding? For who? I ain't shelling out for another one of your goddamn _hairdresser's _doomed nuptials."

But Tara knew, by the odd little gleam in Gemma's eyes, that this was no hairdresser wedding. "Gemma?"

"Juice and Ava."

"Jesus Christ," Tara muttered. "When?"

She smiled. "Ten minutes ago."

To his credit, Clay didn't say a word. Just sighed and went back to his paper.

**-O-**

"Mom," Ava slipped her arms around Maggie's waist and hugged her hard ", I think the last time someone cried this much in a courthouse, there was an execution planned."

"I know!" Maggie sounded like she couldn't believe her own tears. "But you're crying too."

Ava shook her head in the negative when she pulled back, but it was no use; her eyelashes were gummy with moisture. Maggie dabbed at her running makeup and smiled. "We are so retarded."

"We are," Ava agreed and hugged her mom again.

"I'm so proud of you," Maggie whispered.

Ava laughed, and was glad because it helped dry up her tears. "Why?" she asked, incredulous, as they broke apart again.

Maggie rolled her eyes. The breeze out in the courthouse parking lot snatched her hair across her face and she brushed it away with mild annoyance. "You know why," she said. And really, Ava did. Because everyone in Charming had been more than convinced that she'd kill herself or end up in a straightjacket. That she and Juice were done, that there really hadn't been anything viable there to begin with. When Hap had died, their ship had left tranquil waters and been caught up in a wicked maelstrom. Coming out of the other side, as they unfurled the sails once again and shook water off themselves like dogs, Maggie was just as amazed as everyone else that she and Juice were alive and together. It was a miracle the club hadn't run her out of town, really.

But things were okay. And Maggie was proud to bursting that Ava, and all of them really, had weathered the storm.

"Hey," Chibs called. He was standing a few feet away with Juice and held his arms out expectantly. "Don't hog the bride, mother."

Chibs' smile was genuine, as was his pride, Ava figured. She stepped into his offered hug and like always lately, wrestled with that hard knot of resentment she was trying to break up. Chibs couldn't go back in time and be the father he should have been, couldn't erase his mistakes, so she had to be the one to forgive and allow them to move forward. She was an adult now, hell, had just gotten married, she didn't need him in the same capacity anymore. The resentment lingered though, and she was figuring out that was one of her major character flaws – and that it was her problem to fix, no one else's. Just like it was no one else's fault that she could never seem to let things go.

"Congrats, sweetheart," he said against her ear and she squeezed him tight one last time before letting go.

"Thanks, Dad."

It was a gorgeous, cloudless day; the sun warmer than the cool breeze that tumbled through the parking lot, pulling at sleeves and hair. Sam had his Sons cap on – a new, bigger one, having outgrown his infant beanie quickly – it was a dark blue that matched his little elastic waist toddler jeans. Ava glanced down at him in his stroller and was suddenly very reluctant to leave.

"Oh, Sammy," she scooped him up. "I'm gonna miss you."

"It's only five days," Juice said. "I think you can make it."

"I know." She passed her thumb over the band of her ring. "Yeah, I know."

"And just think, you'll come back all nice and tan," Maggie said.

Ava nodded. It wasn't that she didn't want to go, or that she wouldn't have a good time. In fact, the moment she climbed on the back of Juice's bike and wrapped her arms around his waist, she felt pretty sure Sam would be the last thing on her mind. But for now it was hard to say goodbye.

"Love you," she kissed his fat, smooth cheek. "You be a good boy for Grammie and Granda."

Chibs laughed at her use of the Gaelic slang title, and that hard knot in her chest loosened just a little bit more.

"Alright," Juice pulled Sam from her arms ", bye, dude," and passed him to Maggie after a fast pretend head butt.

They went through the laundry list of "goodbye" and "be careful", "have a great time" once more, and then Juice looped his arm around her waist and towed her toward his bike. "You impatient?" Ava asked, feeling her own excited smile split across her face like lightening.

"You have no idea," he said as they approached his bike. It was already packed for their honeymoon; saddlebags laden with the bare essentials. "This is the first time I've been in the courthouse by choice…and actually walked back out again!"

**TBC**

**AN: **Two more chapters and an epilogue left!


	39. Mine

**AN: **Thanks to Reaper's firsthand little league knowledge.

Reviews are lovely! Thanks, guys.

…

**39. Mine**

"Juice," she managed before his lips were on hers again. She wanted to tell him that there was no sense doing it up against the motel room door when there was a whole bed on the other side of said door. But his free hand was rapidly scaling her rib cage beneath her shirt while the other fumbled with the doorknob and the motel key that was actually a key and not a card. Ancient fucking motel. But Ava wasn't really helping things the way she undulated against him. Five hours had been a very long ride and they'd only been married about six hours, and she was really trying to be a grownup about the whole thing, but consummation needed to happen. _Now._

"Baby," she breathed as they broke apart. Their lips were still touching but there was enough air for her to whisper ", open the fucking door," with a smile.

He kissed her again, pulling her even tighter against him until she thought her spine would crack in two like a Hollywood starlet in the kissing scene of a lifetime, murmuring in the affirmative against her mouth, the sound vibrating against her lips.

God, this was fast about to become an indecent exposure charge with the Shelter Cove police if he didn't get the goddamn door open. She started to reach around him, but he beat her to it. The door gave way and they both lurched into the dark room. Juice was carrying both their bags and stumbled as he tried to dump them to the ground. Ava tripped and he caught her, but her momentum sent them both staggering. The kiss turned into more of a clumsy, desperate pawing at one another and they crashed into what she realized was a table as the corner of it bit into the fleshy part of her hip.

"Ouch!" she hissed, letting go of his belt buckle – the damn thing seemed to be glued together anyway – and rubbed at the sure-to-be bruise. "Okay, we've gotta get a grip."

Juice was breathing like a freight train, but managed a breathy laugh. "That's kinda the problem, there's no gripping of any kind going on."

"I know, I know," she reached for him again and just wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek against his chest to keep from igniting another crazy controlled fall into more furniture. She hadn't thought it would feel this way, but after all that time on the back of the bike, thinking about how important what they'd done was – for them, their future, and for Sam – the moment felt so overwhelming that all she wanted to do was just _be _with him, like this. Soak him up. Which really wasn't true because she also _wanted _him.

Juice didn't seem to be having the same overabundance of thought though. He was gathering up the hem of her long, flowing eyelet camisole in both hands…but then he froze. "Oh! Shit, I forgot!"

Dare she ask? "What?"

In answer, he scooped her up in a fireman's hold that left her surprised and laughing. "_What_ are you doing?"

"I have to carry you over the threshold," he said, tone very serious all of a sudden. Like he was worried that he'd jinxed them or offended her by leaving out some integral part of the ritual.

"Oh, Christ," she said, resting her head against his shoulder as he carried her back out of the room and onto the balcony. But she said it with happiness and contentment and a pretend sense of exasperation over his little quirks.

He walked her out only to turn around and walk her right back in. Ava caught the light switch with a finger, but didn't really take time to stop and enjoy the scenery. She got tangled up in his mouth again as he laid her out on the bed and climbed over her. He spilt her legs open with fast, desperate hand stroke and she let her hips move against his touch, nails raking up his arms, pushing under his shirt sleeves. She didn't even want to waste the time it would take for both of them to get naked, but knew it needed to happen. She wondered, briefly, if all this build up wasn't twice as thrilling as the actual sex was going to be.

And then she spotted the mirror.

His kiss was rough and sloppy, little razor points of his chin stubble biting into her throat as he moved down her neck. She tilted her head to the side, sighing deeply – she loved to have her neck kissed – and when she opened her eyes, she didn't find the expected ceiling, but her own reflection staring back at her. There was a huge, rectangular sheet mirror affixed to wood canopy of the four-poster bed they were on, and her heart rate leaped into double time when she saw what it looked like when he was on top of her like this.

She gasped and Juice pushed up on his braced forearms. "What?"

"There's a mirror!" and she nodded upward.

He twisted around, holding himself up one arm, and craned his neck upward. "Holy shit…damn!" He laughed. "Niiiiiice." When he settled over her again, his smile was dazzling. "Aren't you glad I didn't spring for one of the nice hotels?"

"Yeah," she said, alternating her gaze between their reflection and his Fourth of July firework smile.

She took a deep breath, and then another, digging her fingernails into his arms. "This is the sleaziest, cheapest…fucking _hottest _thing I've ever seen in my life." _Reflections on the bedroom wall, _a line from an old Bon era AC/DC song came to her suddenly. _And there you thought you'd seen it all. _"You want me on top?" she asked, voice suddenly deep.

He smiled again, and then leaned down so his lips touched her ear when he spoke. "Nah. Enjoy the show, baby."

**-O-**

"So," Juice drawled – he actually freaking had some sort of Yankee drawl going on when he was either really sleepy or had really gotten his rocks off. This was probably both. Ava sat back against the headboard, holding her damp hair off her neck while he took another drag off his cigarette. "I should probably apologize, cause this motel is absolute shit."

And it was. Shelter Cove was a picturesque little surfing town. Lots of B&Bs and cottages, cabins, carefully designed Inns that looked like sprawling beach homes. The beach itself was rough and framed with craggy black rocks – very gothic as the sky became gray and the waves crashed in if Ava did say so, and she did. But the Monte Carlo Motel was neither picturesque nor crafted. It was a standard L-shaped two story that looked like it might have been painted last in the 80s. It had been advertised as "economy lodging" but had the vibe of places that saw mostly daytime customers with rolls of cash in their pockets.

Ava knew that Juice hadn't been able to afford one of the ritzier places. But she didn't need fancy. And she was now trying to figure out how soon they could put a mirror over their bed at home. Watching him while he was above her, and inside her, her black fingernail polish dark against the tan stretch of his back had been…delicious.

"Don't," she assured, letting her eyes wander over their room again. The TV was set up on a mini fridge. The window was flanked with dark drapes that were being ruffled around by the AC unit they hadn't bothered to adjust yet. A cheap round table and chairs and a dresser with drawers she didn't dare open were the only furniture. Tawdry silk flowers in a vase shaped like a dolphin. "It's beautiful."

He snorted a laugh.

Ava was too warm, skin no longer slick with sweat, but sticky. She climbed off the bed and went to the window, standing over the blast of cool air coming out of the vents, nakedness shielded by the gauzy film of white curtain that kept the outside world from seeing in.

A non-spectacular view of beach lay beyond the parking lot. The sand was duller here; littered with lots of tiny stones but none of the mountainous rocks like further down on the expensive properties. But the froth and crash of the waves was still pretty. She bet the sound would have been good too if not for the humming of the AC. The sky had turned gunmetal gray and boasted fat indigo clouds. She frowned a little. Hopefully it wouldn't rain.

The bed groaned and a welcome shiver raced through her. She measured each of his footsteps in her head, the landscape fading to the periphery when his palm slid around her naked stomach.

_Baby, _the word flashed across her mind again as was now becoming routine. She had not anticipated there being a day when she wanted another man's baby. But he was not _another man_, he was Juice. Her husband.

She turned her head, leaning back so her shoulder blade rested against his chest. He stared out at the beach, still smoking. There was something very basic and very sexy about watching a man smoke, Surgeon General's warnings be damned. _Yes_, she thought. It was okay to want his baby too. Then she'd have one of each; a piece of both her Old Men. A little bit of Hap and a little bit of Juice, and how insane and somehow perfect that they'd be brothers. Or brother and sister. She couldn't rule out a little girl, didn't want to really.

She curled her arm up and around his neck and he exhaled a thick plume of smoke before he turned to her. His face was a little harder than she'd expected, but she liked it. He was still hungry, still wrestling with the huge sensation of being married, _married, _and wanted her bad enough that it was making him tense, even though his movements were slow and relaxed. He was himself on the surface, animal underneath and that was something she hadn't ever noticed about him before they'd been together. Maybe it had always been there, or maybe their time with one another had brought it out in him. Either way, he needed it; that dichotomy. The club needed him to have it. And right now it was quickening her breathing until she was making soft, pleading sounds and stretching toward him.

He tasted like smoke. And his tongue pushed back against hers with a lazy strength. The edge had been taken off and they could take it slower this time. Really savor each sensation. Slowly, without breaking the kiss, he moved them away from the window and she knew it was so he could set his cigarette down on the table. Because then both his hands framed her face. He always, even when things got hot and desperate, managed to make her feel revered. And the best part was, she didn't think it was on purpose; that was just his way. _God, _she thought for the hundredth time. _I almost missed this. _She'd almost let grief and sadness pull her down into a pit where she couldn't feel like this, couldn't be loved like this. And that was probably worse than death.

When he pulled her back to the bed, she didn't have to ask if he wanted to be the one to "enjoy the show" this time. She got up on her knees between his and let her hand trail lightly across his stomach as she moved down his body. If only there was a mirror behind the headboard too…

**-O-**

They woke to rain the next morning. Juice could hear it thundering on the roof before his eyelids fluttered open. It was dark in their room; that gray, false dark that was the result of a bunch of low hanging clouds. The sound was like white noise, soothing. Ava was still asleep, on her side with her back to him, his arm draped like unconscious lead around her middle. At least he thought she was asleep. Her voice startled him.

"Is it raining?"

"Yup."

"Mmm, good," she murmured, snuggling back against him. "I don't ever want to get out of bed."

Which proved not to be a bad thing at all. For the first day. They didn't get up except to use the bathroom and venture out after food – prepackaged sandwiches from the convenience store/gas station on the corner. But on the second morning, Juice awoke to Ava standing in just his t-shirt, drapes flung wide as she scowled out at the monsoon that still raged across the beach and the roof of the motel.

"Alright, Mother Nature," she addressed the sky. "You're seriously fucking with my honeymoon."

"Who cares?" he asked, sitting up in bed and firing up his first smoke of the day. "No one does anything on honeymoons anyway."

"What about that couple we saw in the food mart, huh?" she asked, shooting him a look over her shoulder. Her hair was a tangled mess and her limbs looked thin and pale when dwarfed by his shirt; she was like a little fairy or something. "They were gonna wind surf and go for a hike and -,"

"Babe," he cut her off, shaking his head. "Do you think that dude wanted to do any of that shit? And if he did, what the hell? He'd rather walk five miles uphill than fuck his woman? What dumbass pussy wastes energy _hiking _on his goddamn honeymoon? Plus, we don't either one wind surf."

She twitched a tiny smile. "Is that your official MC opinion?"

"That's my official _man _opinion."

She started to say something and then wisely caught herself. But her dancing eyes told him what she meant. _You can't go round after round non-stop all week. We have to take breaks. _And they did, but he didn't want to spend those breaks hiking. He was so not into nature.

"Mmmkay," she said, glancing back out the window.

But by day three, she'd obviously had enough. They were playing cards on top of the unmade bed, both of them mostly dressed, when she got up and started pawing through her saddle bag of clothes.

"Ava," he called in a sing-song voice, stealing a glance at the hand of cards she'd left on the sheets. "What are you doing?"

"Fuck this rain," she said. "We're at the beach and I want to go to the beach."

"It's cold," he reasoned. "And still sort of misting."

She stood, her bathing suit clenched in one hand. "I know." She chewed at her lip and he knew that he'd go on a goddamn hike while wind surfing, if that was even possible, if she really wanted him to. He'd have awful, cold, seaweed-drenched, sand in all the wrong crevices beach sex with her if she so much as hinted. "I just…never get to go to the beach. I wanted to at the very least go for a walk. Look for seashells."

"I'll get dressed," he relented without a fight, and her thankful smile meant that yes, beach sex standing on his head while the tide came in wouldn't be too much to ask so long as she smiled that way.

**-O-**

It was a chilly sixty-six degrees inside the Physician's Immediate Med building, the air conditioning humming constantly, and Ava shivered as she tried to burrow a hole in Juice's side. It was bad enough that it was too cold in here, but add to that she was in shorts, a bikini top and a flimsy gauze shawl, was soaking wet to boot, and her teeth were chattering. Frost bite felt imminent. Juice's wet t-shirt clung to him, but he made a good show of being unaffected by the temperature, despite the goose bumps all over his arms.

"We should get out of here," she tried, again. Water was running off the ends of her hair and down her back in icy little trickles.

Juice was staring down at her foot where it dangled of the exam table they were sitting on. He frowned. "No, I'm gonna beat the shit outta the goddamn doc if he doesn't get in here, but we're not leaving."

"Really," she persisted. "We should just get some alcohol and Band Aids…" she trailed off as she sat forward and saw that blood had now seeped through the makeshift bandage wound around her ankle and sole of her foot. Red drops were now dribbling down onto the stark white tile. She felt woozy and lightheaded, same as she had on the beach when she'd first watched the sharp point of rusted metal get uncovered by the incoming tide. Right before her bare foot had descended upon it. She'd yelled before the skin was pierced, and had tried to twist away, but it was too late, and the resulting gash in her heel had left Juice a little pale and unsteady himself.

"They could have at least given you pain meds," he griped.

"It doesn't hurt that bad." But it did. It was relative pain, nothing like giving birth, but it still hurt bad enough that her fingers were curled up into white knuckled fists in her lap.

It had been such a shitty idea; going to the beach. She had tried to walk back to the hotel, but sand kept getting ground into her wound and the sting had left her breathless. So Juice had carried her piggy-back to their room, where they'd washed it out, only to realize it was even deeper than they'd originally thought. Putting her boot on had been torture. And the footpeg on the bike had put tears in her eyes. And then it had started raining again. Hobbling across the parking lot of the doc-in-a-box clinic, they'd both been soaked. Ava just wanted a stiff drink and a warm blanket.

They were both startled when the door finally opened. Juice climbed off the table as the doctor – a worn-down middle aged guy who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world – stepped in flipping through her file. Juice's touch on her knee was reassuring and unconsciously protective. Ava twitched a smile.

"Okay…Ava Ortiz," the doc read off the chart, and it was the first time she'd ever heard her new last name in conjunction with her first. Ava Ortiz. She felt her smile expand and laid her hand over Juice's.

After a delicate cleansing, packing and bandaging – the cut was in a place where stitches wouldn't hold – Ava was given a tetanus shot and an antibiotic prescription, then they were finally sent on their way.

They hit up the pharmacy and the gas station, went back to the motel, and Ava didn't even care if the fiberglass tub was gross; she soaked in a hot bath, her wrapped foot hanging over the side, for forty minutes. When she emerged, limp and sleepy, Juice was sprawled over the unmade bed in fresh underwear, eating Twizzlers and chasing them with beer.

"Yummy," she said, making a face. She climbed into bed next to him, mindful of her poor foot, and rested her towel-wrapped head back against the wall, accepting his offer of the extra blanket they'd snitched from the motel's linen closet. She needed to dry her hair and her stomach rumbled, but the second she was cuddled up under the blanket, using his whole side as a body pillow, she felt sleep threatening. "You're warm," she said appreciatively.

"I know. The hotness just radiates off me in waves."

She snorted and managed to elbow him in the ribs, earning a chuckle. "Not the kind of warm I meant, dork."

The Twizzlers package crackled as he chucked it down to the end of the bed, and then Juice slipped an arm around her back and pulled her half into his lap, so she was more fully supported and had a better view of the TV. The motel at least had cable, and he'd found the original, black and white _Wolfman_ on one of the classic movie channels.

"They don't make horror movies like that anymore," she mused.

"I know. Special effects are much better now."

She grinned. Of course he thought that. "I'll take plot over special effects any day."

He snorted. "Now who's the dork?"

**-O-**

The misty gray landscape had become so constant that it was impossible to tell what time of day it was when Juice woke. He was alone in bed, a quick pat down of the mattress proved, and he rolled groggily onto his side. Ava was in one of the chairs, feet curled up under her, staring out the window at the bleak landscape and sipping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee she held between both delicate hands. She was in her pajama bottoms and his sweatshirt, pink socks, messy dark hair falling all around her shoulders.

"Hey, gorgeous," he called and she turned, smiling. Her eyes were warm and her face soft, but something was off. There was an air of sadness around her. "You okay? How's the foot?"

Her smile twitched to the side a little crookedly. "I'm perfect."

He thumped a hand down on the sheets beside him. "Come back to bed."

She did, unfolding her long legs one at a time and stretching lazily as she approached, but paused beside the bed. She scratched lightly at his arm with the tips of her nails, face thoughtful.

"What?"

"I've been thinking about something," her voice was hesitant. "And the more I tell myself that it's ridiculous, the more I just can't seem to let it go."

Juice couldn't help but chuckle. She was being more cautious than was necessary; a total one-eighty from her behavior a year ago. He tugged on her wrist and she climbed into bed beside him, head propped on one arm. "Nothing's gonna shock me at this point," he assured – which wasn't true, but he didn't figure she had anything truly shocking to tell him. He looped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. She resettled, getting good and snuggly. "What is it?"

"Well," she traced his collar bone with one finger. "I had this thought, about a week ago. The morning you proposed…but before you proposed. Just this mental bitch slap I can't shake."

"Mental bitch slap?" He barked out a laugh that threatened to turn into a full-on laughing fit. "What are you talking about?"

She stared at a spot above his shoulder a long moment, nibbling at her lip. She shifted her leg, purposefully rubbing their shins together. When she finally met his eyes, hers were brimming with a kind of wistful hope he wasn't sure he'd ever seen on her. It unnerved him a bit, but was a little exciting at the same time. "This is gonna sound nuts," she squeezed his arm in a way that said _please just hear me out on this one. _"But I think…no, wait, I _know_…that I want Sam to have a brother or sister."

Juice's brain divided neatly into two: one side screaming ", holy shit!" inside his skull, the other nodding along because, really, he should have seen this coming. He guessed. Actually he didn't know. Ava was passing her thumb over the tattoo on his right bicep in little circular motions, face creased with nervous apology. It was perfectly rational for a woman with only one child to want another. He'd not only been an only child, but a victim of the foster care system, so he understood family, longed for it. But he was still shocked, wanted to ask Ava ", um…you know that _I'd _be the father, right?"

Instead he said ", wow," and let out a loud shaky breath. "Guess I should have seen this coming."

Her face fell. "I know, I know, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything yet." And he realized this wasn't just a honeymoon whim, but that she'd been thinking about it, and maybe it was even a compulsion she didn't know how to shake; which probably made the urge all the stronger.

"No, you're fine," he assured, smiling and coaxing one out of her too. He thanked God for his rare moment of patience, that he hadn't reacted with bug eyes and some ill-timed curse when she'd first told him. Because as the dichotomy of his impulsive and thoughtful sides merged together again, he felt warm all over. Excited even; he recognized the rare tickle in the pit of his stomach that didn't have anything to do with sex or porn. His smile widened. "You really want to?"

The flare of light in her eyes and the way her smile spread to movie star proportions told him all he needed to know. But she said it anyway. "Yes, I really do. And I can't even explain why -,"

He cut her off with a kiss. She was his wife, they were married, and now she wanted them to be a family in every sense of the word; with a baby that was not just hers, but _theirs_. And then they'd have Sam and the new baby, and it would be so –

"Juice!" she pulled away laughing. "I didn't mean we had to have one right now!"

He waggled his eyebrows. "But we can practice."

**-O-**

"I love rain," Ava said sarcastically as she adjusted her bum foot on the patio table they were seated behind out on the room's balcony. But really, she had a feeling it had made their week all the more intimate and close, seeking shelter from the elements in one another. It was raining now as they ate Burger King for lunch.

"Did your mom call?" Juice asked before he popped an onion ring in his mouth.

"While you were out," she nodded. "Sammy's fine…damn I miss him though. And of course Mom misses us, which she didn't fail to say in a really annoying, Mom fashion."

Juice rolled his eyes.

"She said she talked to Janine and apparently, we're in 'trouble' for not telling people we got married."

He nodded a moment, and then grinned. "Uh oh, if Janine knows, then all of Tacoma's gonna know, and that means -,"

"Koz!" she gasped. "Oh, shit, he has no idea."

"You better call him before Janine gets hold of him."

She dug her cell out of the pocket of her sweatshirt and dialed the familiar number. It rang once, twice…

**-O-**

"Run, Luc! Run, baby,_ run_!" Koz grinned when Cassie jumped to her feet on the bleachers beside him. But Luc, poor kid, was still watching the T-ball it had taken him five swings to hit go piddling out toward left field, the other pee wee players scrambling to catch it. "Lucas, run!"

Watching the action from behind the polarized lenses of his high resolution riding glasses, decked out in several layers of semi-clean shirts and his cut, Koz was a sore thumb sticking out of the more aptly dressed fathers and mothers in the stands. The fact that he'd shown about thirty minutes late thanks to club business hadn't really helped the staring. But he ignored the looks, eyes trained on the number twenty eight Soundview Mariners jersey and the kid being swallowed up by it. Luc glanced over his shoulder at the stands, obviously having heard his mother's voice, and then took off like a shot for first, bat flying to the ground, red batter's helmet sloshing around on his head.

Ah, T-ball. Sports entertainment didn't come much less, well, _entertaining_…unless you counted bowling on TV. But some of those bowlers were damn good trash talkers. It was at least fun to listen to them. Yet here he was, actually glad to be here, smiling as Cassie cheered on her son. In fact, he was even a little bit pissed that club stuff had caused him to miss the first two innings. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone, but the sentiment was there.

Koz glanced into the outfield where the outfielders for the Soundview Rangers were chasing the ball, then back to Lucas who, urged by his coach at first base, was rushing towards second. The kid made it all the way to third before one of the outfielders managed to get a hold of the ball and throw it a few feet. He watched Luc eye where the ball landed and then saw the kid make the decision to push off third base and head for home. Despite the fact that an outfielder and the player manning second base were actually fighting over the ball at the time and there was no threat of being tagged out, Luc dove for home and executed a beauty of a slider.

Beside him Cassie whooped and hollered and cheered. Koz clapped. Luc got to his feet and brushed off his pants, handing the helmet to his coach, and accepted congratulations and high fives from his team mates. On his way back over to the team bench, he glanced over into the bleachers, spotted them, and grinned. Koz noticed that a missing front tooth gave the kid a bit of a Pirate's smile...

"When did he lose a tooth?" Koz asked.

"Last night," Cassie said with a rueful head shake. "Apparently it was _real_ loose and so he and the kid across the street decided to yank it out themselves with a Chinese jump rope."

His shoulders shook as he chuckled. "Nice."

They watched the next batter strike out and then Luc's team was taking the field when his cell phone buzzed and rang inside his cut. The ringtone was familiar. He saw Cassie glance away from watching Luc taking up position at short stop. She eyed him and he mouthed ", personal." She nodded and went back to watching the game, as he reached in and pulled out his private cell phone. Glancing at the display he flipped it open and said with a grin ", hey, Little Bit."

"Hey, favorite uncle!" Ava chirped brightly and then laughed. Koz stood, and walked away from the bleachers, unable to hear over the chattering parents. "Where are you?" she asked and he realized she could hear the noise over the line.

"Little league game," he said with a bit of a defeated sigh as he threaded his way through the pedestrian crowd, moving toward the concession stand.

There was a pause and then she chuckled. "Dude…I don't even know what to say."

"That's probably a good thing." Her laughter died down. "So what's up?"

He heard her take a deep breath. "Well…I've got some news. And I think it's better if you hear it from me before Janine gets on the Tacoma hotline and burns my name." She chuckled, nervously.

A thought dawned. "Shit, that idiot didn't get you knocked up, did he? I swear, Ava, you've got to invest in some birth contro -,"

"We got married," she blurted and he fell silent.

And felt like he stayed that way a whole minute.

"We eloped," she explained. "And I know it's soon, but, Koz, I -,"

"You what?" he erupted. "Fuck, Ava!" He glanced up and saw a kid of probably eight about to bite into a loaded hot dog, mouth hanging open in shock, eyes huge behind his glasses as he stared at the scary-looking biker man who'd just dropped the f-bomb. The kid's mother grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away, scowling at Koz. "Jesus," he lowered his voice a notch, running a hand back through his hair. "Are you sure I'm not being Punk'd? That _70s Show _asshole isn't gonna jump out of the bushes, is he?"

Juice's laughter could be heard in the background of the call and Ava shushed him. "No, we really got hitched," she said, and her tone became disappointed. "Jeez, you're taking this worse than Dad."

Koz nodded at no one and took a deep breath. He wasn't mad, not really at all. It was just…wow, they got married? "Guess I just didn't think it would happen this fast."

"We don't really do things slow."

"I noticed." Another sigh. "You guys at home, or…?"

"Nope. On the beach at Shelter Cove. It's been raining all week."

Koz grinned. "Bad omen?"

"No!" she insisted strongly. But there was a laugh to her voice. A happy one. "It's a good thing, Koz," she said quietly. And he could imagine her sitting wherever she was, making goo-goo eyes at Juice, the doofus smiling back at her.

"I know it is, sweetheart," he relented. "Congrats. Tell the idiot I said so too." Then he winced. "Does this mean I have to buy you a present?"

**-O-**

Ava was excited to go home the next day: see Sam and be in her own house, get back to writing, visit with the rest of her family. But she savored their last night. In the pitch black of night, the rain just a soft pattering on the window, she lay on her side, head-to-toe connected to Juice, his hand running up and down her spine in soft sweeps, hers playing with the stubble along his jaw.

"You ready to go home?" he asked.

"Yeah. But I'm glad we had this. I'm gonna miss it, I think."

When he smiled, the faint glow of the exterior lights caught his teeth and they gleamed in the dark. "We can still have it."

She returned the smile. "We can, can't we?"

"Yep."

She moved her hand down to his chest. "And you really want to have a baby?"

"Yeah, I really do."

Ava inched even closer, until her head was tucked under his chin. "I love you." _And I hope to God I'll always be able to show you how much. _

**TBC**


	40. Every Day

**AN: **So this is technically the last chapter. But there is an epilogue soon to follow that helps set up my next story. They started as hypothetical, but Ava and Juice together have become very real in my imagination. The end of this story is just their beginning. And I'm really excited to share "the kids" with you all next time.

Thank you, everyone, so much for the reviews and support! Please review!

…

**40. Every Day**

Sunday mornings were her writing mornings. Before the sun got really cranked up, when her boys were still sleeping, she mixed herself some instant coffee and took her laptop to the kitchen table. Her creativity had come back with a vengeance, and her fingers clicked over the keys so fast she barely registered what she typed. But somehow it always turned out to be exactly what she'd meant to say. She divided her time evenly; a half hour for whatever piece she'd been commissioned to write for the paper, and another half hour for her own fictional musings.

Her back was to the door, but she heard Juice come down the hall and smile to herself. "What's up, Mama?" he greeted, and put a sloppy kiss to her cheek before shuffling to the fridge and getting out the chocolate milk.

"The Ladies' Auxiliary bi-monthly tea social, that's what's up," she said with a smile that was more of a grimace.

"Oh yeah," he grinned as he sat down across from her. "I almost forgot about The Hat."

"I thought we agreed to never mention The Hat again?" she arched a brow at him over the screen of her laptop. She'd been asked to do a recap for the paper about the tea-and-crumpets stuffy-old-ladies-crammed-into-lace-dresses social set, which had meant that she actually had to attend the event. And The Hat…she shuddered as she remembered the floppy, ribbon festooned thing that would have made a Derby-goer blush.

He chuckled, and then, like always, his attention was diverted. "Do I smell cinnamon?"

"I've got cinnamon rolls in the oven."

Speaking of which – she stood and went to check the timer. A peek in the oven revealed that they were in fact done, and she pulled them out with a mitt and left them to cool on the stove top. She pried the tin lid off the jar of frosting and set it on the edge of the pan, to let the heat transfer, until the sugar was liquid and deliciously gooey.

"So I've been thinking about this baby thing," Juice said from the table and she spun around. "And I want you to hear me out about something first."

She faced him fully and put her hands back against the counter, heart sinking like a stone at the thought that he'd changed his mind. Things had been going so well, his birthday was coming up and she had saved up enough money from her various writing gigs and diner tips that she'd ordered this beautiful, custom cake.

"It's a good thing, I promise," he assured, brow crimping up like he was bothered by her mood change.

"Okay…"

"Jax wants to make Sturgis a mandatory run this year."

Ava nodded, wondering how in the hell that was relevant. The club hadn't gone to the annual rally in South Dakota for several years, and while that was interesting, it explained nothing about the "baby thing".

"I want you to come with me," he said. "To Sturgis." He grinned, the million watt, every tooth in his head flashing grin that she loved. "I figured you don't wanna be pregnant when you get to Sturgis…but maybe you can leave pregnant."

He was such a constant doofus who couldn't seem to remember to tie his own boots, that she hadn't expected that much foresight out of him. They had talked about the baby, but it had seemed like some mysterious cloud hanging over the future. And here he was giving her a plan; a concrete time in which to actually create the baby.

She crossed the few steps between them and took his face in her hands, kissed him hard. "Sturgis baby, huh?" she asked when she pulled back, trying to keep her swell of emotion well concealed. "You been planning the conception without me?"

"I think you'll be pretty pleased with the outcome," he was smug.

She was agreeing with him, sliding into his lap, when Sam woke up. Loudly. "Ugh, I'll be back," she gave him a peck on the forehead. "Keep your fingers out of the icing till I get back."

"Ah, man…"

Sam was standing up in his crib, wailing, but clamped his mouth shut when she popped through the door. "Oh, I see," she said with a chuckle. "You were fake crying. Little brat." And he went happily when she picked him up into her arms. She detoured into the master bedroom in search of his passie. It was on the bathroom counter, mixed among the clutter of the hair dryer, clippers, makeup, her brush and their various other toiletries.

Ava shifted Sam to her hip and reached for the pacifier, but froze when the tips of her fingers brushed over Juice's razor. The Mach 3 Gillette. With the little stubbly black hairs caught between the blades.

Without warning, the past reached all the way up to the present and snatched hold of her, put her back on the very same bathroom floor, eight weeks pregnant and hyperventilating as she clutched this same razor.

But the past wasn't the bully it used to be. It didn't leave her breathless and trembling and ruined. She didn't cry, didn't even feel moisture building behind her eyes. Happy had been her past, but Juice was her future. It was a future she'd never planned on having, but the prospects of which were exciting. And definitely worth living for. Happy had saved her life more than once…but Juice had too. In a whole other way. He'd pulled her from a whole different hell. And he just kept doing it; every day, with every smile.

She moved past the razor, smiling as the onyx ring on her hand caught the light, and then picked up Sam's pacifier.

"Come on," she told him with a smile. "Let's go see Daddy."


	41. Epilogue

**Author's Note: **Hi, everyone. Sorry to say that I've stepped away from fanfiction to work on original writing projects that I'm very excited to be able to share. If you liked "Gets in Your Blood" and the Ava/Juice dynamic, you might be interested in my new novel _Shelter_. I have links and more information up at my website – you can visit my fanfic profile page for a link to my site.

I apologize for leaving some of my stories in their current states, and I want to thank all of you for being such supportive, wonderful reviewers. I'm so passionate about storytelling and I'm hoping some of you will let me share my original stories with you.

~Bad Company

**Epilogue: Turning Home**

Riding down the long, gentle slope of the hill, down through a barren red stretch of scrub growth, he could see his destination as an ever expanding oasis in the middle of the windswept valley. Charming was like a warm, welcoming palm, taking him in. It was like landing, settling back to earth after a turbulent flight through cloudy skies. The air rippled up his arms and the outskirts of town came closer and closer and then he was going down Main Street, past a row of shops that seemed untouched by time and modernity. He'd been told once – and now believed it – that no matter how far you went or how big your life became, coming home always felt good. Right. Worn in and well loved like a decent pair of boots, its sounds and vibrations more familiar than those of his bike.

He knew the way without really thinking about it. He debated the house, a shower and clean clothes for a second, then pressed on. It was late afternoon and Teller-Morrow was full of the usual crowd; assorted bikers, mechanics, customers and hangarounds hoping to edge in on the MC. He backed his bike into a spot along the rail beside all the others; those of his patched brothers nearer the clubhouse, those of the hangarounds on the garage side on the property.

There was a trendy little fuel-efficient car in a hideous shade of neon green up in front of one of the bays – a chick's car, obviously – and two twenty-something girls with cargo shorts and long, tan legs were flipping their hair and giggling at the mechanic inspecting whatever was wrong with their ride.

With a smile, he took off his helmet and swung off his bike, doing a quick check with one gloved hand that his mohawk hadn't been smashed too badly during the ride.

"…probably have it done in a few hours…" the mechanic was saying as he drew closer. One of the girls, the blonde one, bit down hard on her bottom lip and let her eyes take a leisurely stroll up from the mechanic's sneakers all the way to his T-M work shirt. The gear head was totally oblivious.

"You know, girls," Sam dropped an arm across each woman's shoulders and they jumped, startled. He grinned wickedly and nodded toward the mechanic. "This guy is _the _best we've got around here."

"Really?" one of the girls purred, but the object of her admiration didn't pay a bit of attention.

His head snapped up at the sound of the familiar voice and his eyes, that were exact replicas of the old man's, widened with surprise and delight. "Sam!"

Sam lifted his arms clear of the girls and braced for impact as his little brother barreled into him with a crushing hug. They were a good three inches apart in height, but lately the kid had turned into a bulldog in the muscle department. "Hey, bro," he clapped him on the back and chuckled. "Jesus, what you been eatin' while I was gone?"

Race's smile was proud when he pushed back and then gave him a play shove. His resemblance to their dad was so strong that when they were children, Ava had always joked the Juice had just sneezed him out, and that she'd had no hand in his creation. It wasn't true of course, because Race had inherited far too many of their mom's little emotional and mental hangups. But he was all smiles today, happier than Sam had seen him in awhile. He didn't have the head tattoos or the mohawk, wore his hair cropped close to his scalp, but he was very Juice-like this afternoon, and it eased a little tension Sam hadn't known he'd been carrying until he saw him now. Things had been going well for his little bro lately. Really well.

Sam looped an arm across Race's shoulders and tugged him away a few steps, putting him in a mock headlock. "Cards are stacked in your corner that both those college yuppie chicks would return the lube job favor," he said with a dark laugh.

"The blonde has fake tits," Race said matter-of-factly, not even a trace of a smile. "And the brunette obviously has low, low self esteem or she wouldn't keep playing with her hair like that. There's nervous hair twirling, and then there's 'look at me' hair twirling."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Plus I'm kinda digging the monogamy thing."

"Yeah, yeah, you're boring as hell these days." He released him as he recognized their dad stepping out of a garage bay. "Hey, Pops."

Juice spread his arms wide and they shared a fast man hug, slapping each other's backs hard and loud. "Hey, kid," he smacked him good naturedly in the chest when they pulled apart. "You have a good ride back?"

"Yup," he swiped at his mohawk again and earned a grin.

"Gotta keep it short," Juice said for the millionth time. "Gel don't hold up against helmets."

Sam sighed.

Juice's face became a little more serious. He shifted his feet. "How's your sister?"

"She's _fine_, Pops. Just like I know she told you when you talked to her an hour ago."

He frowned, busted, and gave him a sideways glance. "She really getting school stuff set up?"

Sam held up his hands. "Swear on my life, she was going through brochures when I left."

Juice nodded, but then folded his arms and stared off at some random point in the middle distance. "Lo needs school. She's too damn smart and too damn talented to waste her time working goddamn retail."

"Yeah well," Sam fished a smoke from his pocket and lit up ", she's got Mom's priorities."

"Heart first, head second," he sighed. "Would it kill these girls to be logical?"

"Yes," Race spoke up. He'd been so intently focused on the whateverthehell malfunctioning piece of hybrid plastic shit that he'd pulled from the yuppies' car that Sam hadn't thought he was listening. He glanced up and looked between them with wide, serious eyes. "They would literally explode and fall like Mom-and-Lo glitter all over the place if they had to use just logic." He frowned. "That's kinda cool…Mom-and-Lo…MomandLo…like they're one person. _Coooool_."

Juice raised his brows and then shot a look to Sam. _God help us, _his expression seemed to say.

Sam laughed, the sound deep and loud and tinged with a sinister edge he hadn't intended. "Go on, dude," he thumped Race in the arm ", the two scoops of silicone are waitin' on ya."

"I know," he made a face.

**-O-**

Ava didn't have to pick her way through the crowd so much as she was able to just walk, and people – Sons, sweetbutts and Old Ladies – stepped out of her way. Warm, gold light poured down over the two men in the ring, the dull thuds of fists meeting flesh drawing her forward, until she was right up close to the ropes. She spotted her man and moved toward him. His mohawk had more salt in it these days, but it was still there, and Juice's bolt tattoos were still visible and not out of place even though he was in his sixties. She smiled a little, the move so reflexive she didn't notice, as she stepped up behind her husband and slipped her arms around his waist. She leaned to the side and propped her cheek against his arm so she could watch the action and still stand at his back.

"Hey, Mama," he greeted, laying a hand over hers, not taking his eyes away from the ring. "Watch your left, don't -," he inhaled sharply and then laughed hard. "_Yeah, _Sammy!"

Ava watched her eldest as he ducked and dodged around his opponent. He was twenty-five now, tall and lean and well muscled, built just like his biological father. He had Hap's speed and aggression too. He shaved his head, all save for a narrow strip down the middle that he let grow out about two inches and gelled into a perfectly manicured mohawk every day. He'd had a mohawk, in some capacity, since he was four – he'd always wanted to mimic his "Pops" that way.

The silver hoops in each ear and in his left nostril flashed under the overhead lights. His ink highlighted the jump of muscles beneath his skin: ORTIZ in all caps across his shoulders, the striking snake down his left arm, the Celtic knot on his chest that was both a cross and a dagger, CRAZY down the inside of his right forearm in a show of solidarity with his brother – Juice had that one too. And the reaper over his ribs.

Sam faked out the hangaround he was fighting and then threw a mean combo of punches that had the other guy spinning back against the ropes. The crowd cheered. He was a part time mechanic and handyman, but Sam's real income came from the greedy, gambling fists around the ring at the fights every weekend. He was a boxer and cage fighter like his grandfather had been once upon a time.

"How's the champ?" Ava asked above the noise.

Juice turned his head so she could hear, his grin wide. "He's gonna slaughter next weekend." He lifted his arm and pulled her around toward his side. "C'mere," his smile shifted ", I haven't seen you all day."

She braced a palm on his chest and stretched up to kiss him. She knew his kiss, his touch, could predict it – twenty five years made a person, a partner, into an extension of oneself. But that didn't make it boring. No, the honeymoon magic did go away, but it was replaced by something better. Giving birth to two more babies, making a home for them all, the late nights and early mornings, hard decisions, the tears and laughter, the nights when the only thing you had to hold onto was each other…that was a whole different breed of love she hadn't ever asked for, but now didn't know how she'd live without. They had faced their absolute, most terrifying moment together. Had fought so loud she thought the window panes would shatter. And at some point in those twenty five years, she'd admitted to herself – and to him – that she loved Juice more than…any man. And her kids were the only three people on the planet who could rival that.

The crowd roared and she pulled away, resting her head against his shoulder so he could keep watching Sam, keep cheering him on. For Juice, Sam had always been "theirs". "My son," or ", my oldest," he told everyone. He had never made the distinction, had never acted like Sam was any less his offspring than Race or Lo. Even when Sam had been a teenager and struggling with aggression issues. Happy had given her the boy, but Juice had made the boy a man.

**-O-**

Jax had told him once that the roof was a good place to go and be alone with his thoughts. And it was. Cool and wind battered, the concrete cold under his ass, Sam had spent many an evening up here, enjoying the darkness and the dancing lights down below. The party was in full swing, the crowd that had gathered for his fight now dispersed across the parking lot. He craved the matches – the physical relief they provided that no amount of sex or riding could get rid of – but afterward he was glad for the quiet. He'd learned early that you didn't let your guard down in front of the company of others save for a select few.

As his body cooled, the whiskey he'd brought up with him warmed his insides, and the little notebook in his cut pocket started to feel heavy. Or, more like he remembered it was there, but he liked to think it just made itself known. Felt less like some teenager with a diary that way.

Sam wasn't one for words, but he did like to read. And when his sister had pressed the thick, hard bound journal into his palm before his return trip home, he hadn't asked why or if she was sure. Lo didn't give you something unless she wanted you to look at it. He pulled it out now, and clicked on his cell phone so he could read it up here in the dark.

_The Collected Works of Ava and Lolita Ortiz _had been printed on the front cover with thin-line Sharpie. It was a present, given to his mother, and she'd been unable to make herself write in the pretty papyrus looking pages with their tidy lines for a long time, afraid she'd write the wrong thing for such an important book she'd said once. And then Lo had gotten old enough to share their mom's passion and the two had started passing it back and forth. Sam hadn't known what they wrote, but he'd read a little of it now, knew that it was full of short stories and poems and little paragraphs of nothing. Lo had gone on for a page and a half about a tree.

But it was more than that, really. It was a record, a chunk of written history, and in their MC world, where oral tradition reigned; it was a little piece of preserved memory put down for future generations.

_For my beautiful girl. Love, J _was the original inscription in the inside cover. And someone had gone back and slipped an S in after "girl".

Sam flipped ahead through the pages he'd already skimmed. And then he kept going, getting to the more recent entries, the ones he almost dreaded to read. Seeing his sister's love life put down as poetry would make his skin crawl. He finally paused on something in Lo's handwriting that was really too short to be a poem. It was just a few lines.

_When he thinks I'm not looking, he stares at me like I'm fascinating or beautiful, or maybe both. I didn't think love was supposed to catch me off guard, or hurt so acutely, like I've eaten too much candy, but it does. And it's exquisite. _

Okay, enough of that shit. He snapped the book shut and returned it to the interior pocket of his cut. Small doses. He couldn't take all the estrogen-laced gooey crap in anything larger than a teaspoon every so often.

"Hey, baby."

He glanced over toward the edge of the roof and the ladder he'd used just minutes earlier. "Hey, Ma," he greeted as Ava climbed down onto the roof and headed his way, her arms folded against the chill.

"It's cold up here."

Sam nodded. He was sitting on the metal box that housed the exhaust vents and scooted over as his mom approached. She sat, crossed her legs and leaned sideways into him. "Pops is gonna get lonely down there," he said with a grin.

Ava snorted. "It's good to keep them wanting more." She pulled her hair back with one hand at the base of her neck – if she dyed it, the job was so smooth it looked perfectly natural – and faced him with one of those Mom smiles. "I didn't get to say 'hi' earlier."

"I was a little busy." And cracked his knuckles.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm so glad I raised a barbarian." But he knew she was. Motherhood prevented her from condoning that sort of thing, but he'd seen her smiles and had heard her cheers. His first fight for the club, at an old warehouse in Lodi, his mother's sharp whistle had been the loudest in the place.

"Did you see your brother earlier?" she asked.

"Said he was spinnin' at a sweet sixteen party tonight," he snorted. "He's got a pop playlist and thick earplugs."

Ava chuckled. "Oh, poor Racey." But she smiled. "He's happy though. It's taken him a long time…but he's happy right now and I'm so relieved I could cry most of the time." She massaged her right temple with manicured chrome fingernails as if to ward off any possible tears. "And I talked to Lo while you were on your way back. She's over the moon."

Sam nodded.

Then Ava turned to him, her dark eyes searching. "What about you, baby? You happy?"

Wasn't that a loaded question? And he couldn't lie to his mother: she never bought it. There were times, like now, when he had the feeling she was pushing just a little, testing him to see which way he'd lean; toward his own reality, or his biology. He paused a moment, let the night air and party sounds settle between them. "I'm good," he said at last. "I guess happy is relative…so yeah. I am."

She twitched a smile. "You're a good boy."

Sam knew that she didn't regret her path in life, and that Juice had far surpassed what she'd felt for…his blood father. Ava had a special soft spot for Race because she'd been his crusader all his life. And Lo was her girl. But every so often, his mom would look at him and her eyes were not her own, and a sadness bloomed in her that, if he admitted it, freaked him out a little. "You were my first born," she'd told him once. "And you and your Pops saved my life." That felt like an awful lot of responsibility Sam wasn't sure he wanted.

Like always, she blinked and then it was gone; the cloud of Happy past and her mood back to normal. She smiled and then turned to look down at the crowd that milled below them like cattle. "I should call it a night," she said with a bit of a groan. "My agent wants the second half of my manuscript by noon tomorrow. Ugh."

"Poor you."

"Alright, alright, I'll leave you to your manly brooding." But she didn't get up right away. With Lo moving away, her youngest out of the nest, she was feeling a little useless, and Sam knew it.

He draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her into a sideways hug, kissed the top of her head. "Love you, Ma."

"Love you too, baby." She patted his hand where it rested against her shoulder and they sat there a moment. Watching Juice as he stood talking to Opie. Soaking in the club. Her past and his future.

Their family.

**The End**

**AN: **Whew! Done! Thank you so much to all of you who have read and reviewed. Especially my constant reviewers who've been here the whole time, since Ava was "born". I've posted synopses of my upcoming stories on my profile if anyone wants to check them out. It's a bit ambitious and I don't know how much real life is going to get in the way, but the future is something I really want to write. The amazing Reapergirl is going to be helping me with Koz's story – hopefully soon to be posted – and then the continuation of Juice, Ava and the kids' lives. Be prepared for Ava to act like a rational adult who cares about her family! Haha!

Thanks again, everyone! Hope to hear from you all again.


End file.
